Danger Zone
by Lunadragon88
Summary: After finally defeating Voldemort, Harry doesn't know what else to do with his life. Just as things are starting to settle down, someone he thought was gone forever returns, carrying a whole other burden with him. COMPLETE HarryDraco PostHogwarts PostHBP
1. Prologue

Danger Zone

Prologue

June 21, 2000

He had never done this before. He likened it to the danger of the Final Battle. Curses and screams flying through the air, blood dripping into his eyes, and uncertainty pounding in his veins. Harry didn't know what would happen next, and it terrified him.

"Are you ready?" Ron asked quietly, watching Harry from the doorway. He had been against this from the beginning, but if it was what Harry wanted…well, they had all suffered enough, hadn't they?

"Yeah," Harry breathed, exhaling loudly in front of the mirror. He took in his dark navy dress robes, outlined in a pale blue…or gray, rather. Harry still couldn't decide which, and he'd been doing nothing but stand in front of the mirror for the past hour, trying not to scream in his nervousness.

Now for the first time, as Ron gently took him by the elbow and lead him to where Remus was waiting for him, he felt a type of calm wash over him. He had spent his entire life waiting for something to happen, and when he had walked into that bar, it had. And now, as he made his way to where Remus was officiating, he smiled at all of his friends and…guests, to put it nicely. He still hadn't met all of his fiancé's acquaintances yet, and they were proving to be a rather odd bunch.

Reaching the end of the aisle, Harry took a moment to appreciate the awe inspiring beauty around him. Faeries and floating candles danced in the cool night air, and the towers and spires of Hogwarts castles glowed in the short distance from the affair taking place by the lake. The soft summer grass was tickling Harry's toes, but it felt good to have the solid earth beneath him.

Taking one last breath, he reached out to grasp his fiancé's long pale fingers, warm and soft in a way that his Quidditch and work callused hands could never be. Just shy of his twentieth birthday, Harry could not remember being more happy and content than he was now. He only wished Sirius and Dumbledore were alive to see him in his happiness. Their deaths were only the beginning in the war against Voldemort, but they held the most significance for Harry.

Hermione, radiant in her shimmering sky blue robes, handed Remus a long white silk ribbon, which he then began to wrap around Harry's wrist. Pulling himself back to the present, Harry allowed the magic of the evening to surround him. Under the night of the full moon during the summer solstice, Harry had agreed to bond his life to another's, marking himself as a taken and loved man.

He stared at his fiancé a little while longer, loving the connection he felt when their eyes met, how the emotion and magic seemed to crackle in the air between them. It had taken them so long to get to this point, and somehow Harry could not imagine what would have happened to him if this relationship had not circled to what it was now.

All of a sudden, the grip on Harry's hand turned painful, and Harry felt the body next to his go rigid.

"Draco?" Harry whispered softly. "Draco, what's wrong?"

But the blonde could not hear him. A soft gasp escaped from Draco's lips, and his eyes widened horribly, before he fell to his knees, almost breaking Remus' incantations.

"Remus, don't stop!" Harry cried, dropping to his knees beside his fiancé. Remus nodded and continued speaking, though his amber eyes were full of concern for the young man at his feet.

"Draco, please tell me what's wrong," Harry whispered, brushing the hair back from Draco's face as he pulled him into his lap, still trying to make sure that their hands were tightly clasped for the ritual still taking place around them.

"Oh, god," was Harry's only response when he felt an unexpected liquid seep into his lap. Softly brushing his hand in between Draco's back and his lap, he pulled his hand away only to stare in terror at his blood smeared hand. Draco was breathing harshly against him, mumbling something under his breath that Harry couldn't understand.

Only now did Harry realize that others were crowded about him and Draco. Hermione had pulled out her wand and was muttering healing spells as fast as she could, and Ron was urging Harry to let go of Draco so that they could examine the wound that was causing so much blood. But Harry could only shake his head and hold Draco tightly to him, all the while pleading with Remus to not stop the ceremony.

"Hermione," he called out, meeting her eyes, "he's….he's…"

"I know Harry, I'll take care of it. I know," she replied in between spells.

"No! Hermione, you don't understand!" Harry cried. "He's--"

"I'm sorry Harry, but this is for your own good," was all he registered, before his eyes met Hermione's, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 1: Not So Little Lies

-Chapter One-

June 21, 1998

If there is one thing that is true in this world, it is that when one person assures another of their well being, the second person is recklessly inclined to believe the first. People are too busy dealing with their own problems to notice anyone else's, so when the slightest hint of unhappiness is shown, people would rather believe the little white lie of "I'm fine," then dig deeper to the root of the problem.

So when Harry Potter looked up from his tankard of butterbeer to look at his two best friends, he thought that his answer would go far.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he said softly, before draining the rest of his drink. "I couldn't be better. Voldemort's dead, the war is over, and best of all…we finally finished our N.E.W.T.'s."

As Harry had hoped, Hermione jumped to the bait.

"Oh, but I'm so worried about them. I swear that I completely ruined my Arithmancy exam, and Ancient Runes had several translations that I had never seen in my studying, so I couldn't put down an immediate answer, and…"

"That's alright Hermione, you know you did great," Ron interrupted loudly, holding some chips up to his girlfriend's mouth in an attempt to stop her worrying. And while her pretty face was still marred by a concerned frown, she did accept his food offering.

"So, mate, where do we go from here?" Ron asked, turning to Harry, who was staring at the bottom of his tankard.

"I don't know. I did get into the Auror program, but I don't think I want to work for the Ministry anymore. Maybe I could do some sort of freelance work or something," Harry replied.

"But what about your Quidditch offers? They're finally starting to put the teams back together, and after 8 months of only having matches that consisted of you and Ron tossing around a Quaffle once every few weeks to blow off some steam, I'm sure you'll want to get back to playing Seeker. Didn't Puddlemere offer you a starting position for the next five years?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.

"Seven years actually," Harry smiled slightly. "I guess constancy would be nice, but I don't know. I think it might be nice, working for myself, setting my own hours, learning the ropes with nothing to teach me but experience. I've lived the past seven years on the edge, just waiting for something to come and kill me. For the past two years, I was waiting to kill or be killed. Neither of them sound appealing at the moment. I finally have a chance to take control over something that was mine to begin with."

"What's that mate?" Ron asked, in between chips, occasionally wiping the grease onto a napkin before shoving even more of the fried potatoes into his mouth.

"My life," Harry answered quietly.

Unfortunately, it was a bit too quiet, for at that moment the door to the Three Broomsticks banged open loudly, and a figure wrapped in a long black cloak stumbled through.

"Hey you! Mind you close the door behind you, it's the hottest day of the year," Madame Rosmerta called to the figure, a slightly puzzled look on her face.

Harry was doing no better. Staring at the figure, his head exploded with questions. Who was this person? Why did he or she seem so familiar, even when Harry couldn't even see anything but an old ratted cloak? In fact, why would anyone be wearing a cloak in this weather?

His questions were soon answered, as the figure gazed around the room, before locking eyes with Harry. Not breaking his gaze, the figure slowly made his way over to the corner booth where Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting. As he drew closer, Harry suddenly realized why the figure was so familiar: he had stared at it for over six years.

"Potter," was all that was rasped before the exhausted, wretched figure of Draco Malfoy dropped to his knees and passed out at Harry's feet.

* * *

"Why did we bring him here, again?" Ron asked for the third time in two minutes.

They had taken Malfoy from the Three Broomsticks and brought him back to the flat in Hogsmeade Harry had managed to get after the war. It was small, with only a bedroom, bath, living room, and kitchen, but it met his needs. Compared to his room at the Dursleys', it was a palace. Ron and Hermione were sharing a slightly larger flat down the street from him, highly disappointing Mrs. Weasley, who had wanted her youngest son to return home after Hogwarts; though she might have been slightly pacified by Hermione's more significant presence in Ron's life.

Now they had dumped Malfoy off in Harry's bedroom, not even bothering to remove the ridiculous cloak he still managed to keep closed with his unconscious fingers. He had not stirred since his initial fall, and Hermione was starting to get worried.

"I certainly can't stand the creature, but Ron, we couldn't have left him there! And he's been out for a long time. Do you think we should _enervate_ him?"

"Why didn't we just do that in the first place?" Harry snapped at her.

Hermione blushed a bright pink. "I forgot," she whispered.

"I see, which is why we have the Junior Death Eater in my house. Don't you remember what he tried to do to Dumbledore in sixth year, Hermione? He tried to kill him! Several times, in fact. I don't care if he didn't want to do it, he still tried. He even nearly killed Ron! And then he disappeared for a year. No one's seen him since he ran off with Snape last year. No one."

Ron was only slightly more calm then Harry. "Why did we bring him?" he demanded again, his face slowly darkening to match his flaming hair. "We could have left him there, no one would have cared. He could be dead, and no one would care!"

"I think you'll find that you'll soon be very happy that I'm alive, Weasley," came a voice from the bedroom.

They all rushed from Harry's small living room into his bedroom, to find Malfoy sitting up slightly against the pillows, a sort of grimace on his face. The hood of his cloak had fallen, revealing mud streaked blonde hair tied back with a bedraggled ribbon that had somehow managed to survive whatever Malfoy had been up to. Malfoy adjusted his body slightly, but still kept his cloak tightly wrapped around him.

"Do you always treat guests this well, Potter, or are you still a loner with two lackeys as usual?"

Harry just stared at Malfoy, the only person he had left to hate, sitting on his bed, filthy, but still managing to look like he owned the place.

"Now that you're awake, you can leave Malfoy. You have no business here," Harry said, stiffly.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find that I do, Potter. I have quite a lot of business here, in fact. A little bit down the street at the Weasley-Granger residence, but mostly just here. With you," Draco said calmly, his face a blank slate.

"Malfoy, what part of 'leave' did you not understand? I don't care what you have to say, you can tell the Aurors when they arrive. Now get out of my house!"

"Touchy, touchy," Malfoy commented in a sing-song voice, once again shifting slightly. "But you didn't call the Aurors, Potter. They would have gotten here by now." Malfoy smirked at Potter's look of surprise for being called on his bluff. "Besides, they couldn't touch me if they tried," he added under his breath.

"What was that, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Nothing," he said quickly, averting his eyes to Ron instead. "How's it going, Weasel? Manage to lose any more money yet?"

"Don't change the subject, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, checking Ron with one arm while Harry grabbed the other. "What did you say?"

"Nothing of consequence, Mudblood. Now, leave! Potter and I need to discuss something," Malfoy said, smirking at Ron's predictable reaction of struggling once more against his friends' grips.

"I have nothing to say to you, Malfoy," Harry spat out. "You now have ten seconds to leave before I expel you from my house. Ten, nine, eight…"

"Potter, as much fun as this has been…" Malfoy drawled.

"…six, five, four, three…"

"…you might want to listen to me since this concerns the not quite dead state of old Voldemort."

"…on-- what? That's impossible! Wait a minute….what? " Harry gasped, all the air having vanished from his lungs with that one statement.

"The Dark Lord, Potter, Voldemort. You know, scary old bugger with slits for a nose and this really creepy slithering voice? Yeah, him. He's not dead." Malfoy said, a very serious expression on his face.

"You're joking!" Hermione sputtered, Ron shaking his head 'No' quite vigorously against Malfoy's statement while Harry had completely frozen.

"Well, you always were the bright one, weren't you, Granger?" Malfoy sneered.

"Wait…so Voldemort isn't back?" Harry stated, wanting to keep things straight.

"No, of course not you bloody fuckwit. You killed him yourself. I wasn't even there, why would I know over you? Goddamnit Potter, what the hell happened to your brains over the past year?" Malfoy asked. "Wait, you never had brains to begin with, never mind."

Seeing red, Harry growled his displeasure before leaping forward and grabbing Malfoy by the back of his head and throwing him from the bed to the floor. Malfoy didn't move from where Harry threw him except to turn his head slightly so he could look at Harry while he shouted.

"Malfoy, you are leaving this house right now! And if I ever see you in my presence again…"

"Um, Harry?" Hermione called softly.

"…you can bet that there will be a number of curses heading your way! Including Unforgivables!…"

"Harry," Hermione tried again.

"…No, nothing _but_ Unforgivables you slimy, low-life, egotistical, vain…"

"Harry!"

"…stupid little -- What Hermione?" Harry shouted, spinning to look at her, but she was looking back at his bed.

Turning to see what she was staring at, Harry felt the blood rush out of his face. The spotless white sheets that had been covering his bed only a few hours earlier that morning were now stained a bright red where Malfoy had been laying. Looking back at where Malfoy still lay collapsed on the floor, Harry stepped up closer to his bed and lightly passed his hand over the red spots.

"Blood," Harry whispered, caught somewhere between horrified and confused. The dark robes in summertime now made sense, as Harry swiftly turned back to where Malfoy was lying, lifted his wand, and cast a spell to remove his shirt and robes.

A collective shudder ran through the trio as they gazed at Malfoy's back, unable to take their eyes away from the horror that they were now witness to. How Malfoy had been able to keep his cool was a mystery, as his back was literally shredded by what appeared to be whip lashes and deep cuts made by some sort of knife. Much of the blood had dried and crusted along the wounds, but they had been irritated by Malfoy's shifting on the bed, and had started to run rivets of blood again. Underneath all of the blood, however, Harry could discern certain shapes against the skin. _Tattoos? _he wondered, curious as to how a relatively Muggle practice had found its way onto Malfoy's skin. The only other time he had seen something similar on a wizard had been the Dark Mark.

Harry was shaken from his thoughts by Hermione, who immediately flew into action. Grasping her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white, Hermione muttered spell after spell, stopping the blood flow, healing the wounds, trying to erase the scars. She nearly succeeded in removing all of them, but one stubborn gash that ran diagonally from Malfoy's lower spine to his right hip bone refused to be healed.

"We're going to have to go to St. Mungo's for this. It's beyond my healing capabilities," Hermione admitted, wiping a bit of sweat off her brow.

This seemed to wake Malfoy up from whatever trance he had been in, however, as he immediately disagreed, moving feebly and eyes darting around.

"No! No Healers, Granger! I can't….they'll find me….and…and," Malfoy trailed off, hysteria starting to settle in.

Sighing, bushy hair falling into her eyes, Hermione resorted to traditional Muggle methods of healing.

"Harry, I need some antiseptic and some strips of clean cloth. Ron, please go and get some hot water for me and bring it in here. I'll try and keep him calm and sedated," she added, hesitantly trailing her fingers over his forehead in an effort to stop his frantic reaction.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Hermione said softly, watching him intently as he seemed to relax and Ron and Harry bustled off to their assigned jobs. "You're going to be alright."

"Will…will it hurt?" came the broken answer, sounding nothing like the person who had just been in hysterics over going to a hospital, and even less like the cold Death Eater who had threatened them before.

"Yes."

Silence. And then a whispered, "Okay."

Hermione nodded, trying to be as reassuring as possible even though Malfoy seemed to be getting paler and paler as each minute passed. After what seemed like an age, Ron finally came back into the room, carrying a bowl of hot water and several dish clothes.

"Harry's on his way. He's having trouble finding antopestic, though," he said, eyes not looking at Hermione but at Malfoy once more.

"It's antiseptic, Ron, and just tell him that rubbing alcohol, or rather any alcohol, will suffice," she answered, already taking the dish clothes and soaking them in the steaming water. She waited until Ron left to find Harry before turning toward Malfoy again.

"Now, this will sting a little," Hermione warned, before quickly applying the hot cloth to his back, trying not to wince and pull away at Malfoy's hiss of pain.

"It's alright," she kept on murmuring, slowly cleaning the wound as gently as possible, her medical detachment starting to set it. She had moved on to her third cloth and Malfoy had just stopped clenching his face up in pain when Harry entered, carrying a bottle of rubbing alcohol and looking rather grim.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, it was all I could find," Harry apologized, looking at Malfoy in a bit of sympathy.

"Why…?" Malfoy began, but he was quickly cut off as Hermione swiftly poured the rubbing alcohol onto his back.

Harry was thankful for the silencing charms that were around the house, as he was sure that Malfoy's scream could be heard all the way to London.

"Mother of Merlin, Granger!" Malfoy shouted, eyes snapping around to glare in pain at Hermione as soon as she removed the stinging substance from his wound. "Are you trying to kill me a second time?" he snapped, even as Hermione took the last cloth and soaked it in more alcohol.

"No. A third, Malfoy," she answered, before pressing the alcohol-soaked cloth to his wound again, eyes smarting from causing him even more pain. It didn't matter that it was Malfoy, he was a human being, _damn it_, and no person deserved this torture.

Malfoy didn't scream the second time, though that might have been because Ron ever so graciously stuffed a wash cloth into his mouth just as it opened, muffling any sound that was sure to come.

"There," Hermione soothed as she removed the cloth and started wrapping ripped pieces of a bed sheet around his waist, effectively covering and constricting the gash that still gleamed red at them. "It's all over now. No more, just rest now."

"Not on the bloody floor, Granger," came the reply as soon as Harry removed the gag.

"Well, it certainly is bloody, as is the bed, thanks to you," Ron commented sharply.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Try and be a little sensitive here. Now, let's get him up onto the bed again, and I'll just change the sheets."

"Do you really think we should be moving him any more than we already have?" Harry asked uncertainly, eyes still on Malfoy's back, tracing the outline of his tattoo over and over again until his eyes almost crossed.

"He'll be fine, Harry, don't worry about it," Hermione replied, already replacing the blood stained sheets with fresh ones from Harry's linen closet. "He needs rest more than anything, now that his wounds are healed….or, healing."

"Fine," Harry, snapping back to reality and then levitating Malfoy back onto the bed, making sure that he was still laying on his stomach so to not irritate the still tender skin on his back, not to mention the gaping wound that was still protruding from his side.

"Will there be a scar?" Malfoy asked dully, voice holding nothing but an emptiness that came from utter and complete exhaustion and defeat.

"Yes," Hermione answered quietly. "It won't heal magically for some reason. I can't understand why."

"I do," came Malfoy's answer, but he left it at that, saying nothing else as the Gryffindors stared at him for a few more minutes, before quietly exiting the room. Harry lingered in the doorway, a frown marring his features before a look of resignation came into his eyes and he shut the door, leaving Malfoy in the dark.

TBC


	3. Chapter 2: Eyes Wide Open

-Chapter 2-

June 22, 1998

Harry woke up with a dreadful headache, and the empty bottle of aspirin in his bathroom would do nothing to quell the pain. He had stayed up late into the night talking with Ron and Hermione about the 'Malfoy situation', as they'd termed it. By 3 a.m., it was obvious that they weren't making any progress in their guesswork as to why Malfoy had shown up at the pub, or where his injuries had come from. But they all readily agreed that as soon as he woke up, they would quickly feed him and then transport him to St. Mungo's, despite his protests.

Dragging himself to his feet, Harry wandered into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink. He splashed the cool water onto his face, feeling a little of the throbbing in his head diminish under the refreshing liquid. He glanced up into the mirror, noticing the circles under his dulled eyes and the complete unmanageable state of his hair. Not that his hair was ever manageable, but today it looked like a proper bird's nest.

Before he could even think of taking a shower or dragging a comb through his hair, he heard a slight moan coming from his bedroom. Curious, Harry walked in to discover Malfoy sprawled on his stomach across his bed. Hermione's makeshift bandages had moved in his sleep, so his bare back revealed the angry cut that still marred his otherwise blemish free skin.

Now that he had nothing to stop him, Harry stepped closer to the sleeping figure and studied the tattoo that marked Malfoy's upper back. It was a pair of black wings, tipped in silver and not fully expanded, but still powerful-looking nonetheless. They were very realistic; so much so that Harry was tempted to reach out and stroke Malfoy's back, expecting to feel smooth feather underneath his fingertips.

He was quite startled, however, when he discovered that he had in fact reached out to touch Malfoy's back. His fingers were a scant centimeter away from touching those black outlines before he realized what he was doing and started to pull back. But as usual, things did not go how Harry Potter wanted them to.

A harsh grip encased his wrist and before he could blink Harry found himself lying on his back on the bed, and a very awake and tense Malfoy on top of him, other arm pressed into his neck. Harry looked up at Malfoy with wide eyes, confusion the only thing stopping him from performing some pretty big wandless magic against his attacker.

Malfoy himself was looking down with fury, hair askew and skin still pale, but eyes glaring into what he perceived to be his enemy's eyes, but was really around Harry's forehead. His expression dimmed, however, once recognition finally kicked in.

"Potter?" he asked, sounding confused, Malfoy mask slipping for a minute. "What are you doing?"

"Getting choked by old schoolmates?" Harry managed to cough out, very aware of the arm that was still pressing into his windpipe. Even more disturbing, however, was that he was even more aware of Malfoy's toned body pressed on top of his.

"Oh," Malfoy said eventually, removing his arm from Harry's throat and rolling off of him, wincing as he accidentally put pressure on his side, irritating the cut.

Harry gasped a few gulps of air, before sitting up and regarding Malfoy for several moments.

"Do you mind telling me why you were leaning over me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, staring at him coldly, body still moving as he breathed in deeply as his adrenaline wore off.

"Your tattoo, Malfoy. It's…interesting, to say the least," Harry said, voice a bit raspy as his windpipe still tried to recover.

"It's none of your business, Potter," Malfoy sneered, before looking up quickly at the door.

"But why does it look so --?" Harry started, before quieting as Hermione and Ron walked through the door. Ron was munching on several pieces of toast and Hermione looked as if she had an announcement to make.

"Breakfast is ready, Harry. Malfoy, if you're up to it, you can come into the kitchen and have breakfast with us," she said, smiling a bit tentatively in Malfoy's direction.

"Fine," Malfoy answered, before Harry could interrupt. "I'll be out in a second."

He waited for Ron, Hermione, and finally Harry to leave, before he slowly stood up from the bed. Looking around, he realized that his shirt was still off, and he had only a part of bloodstained gray trousers to wear. Spying his wand on the bedside dresser, Malfoy performed a quick _"Scourgify!" _on his pants, before shrugging about his lack of a shirt, and slowly making his way out of the room.

The Gryffindor Trio were already seated at the table, though Ron was currently the only one eating. Harry was stirring a cup of Earl Grey thoughtfully, and Hermione was ever so slightly adjusting every single food-filled dish or bowl on the table to her liking. The only spot open was between Harry and Hermione. Malfoy sank a bit hesitantly into his seat, before blinking in surprise as Hermione started dumping spoonfuls of eggs and bangers and mash on his plate.

"You need to eat, Malfoy. Those healing spells can take a bit out of a person," she commented, before adding food to Harry's plate as well.

"Because Malfoy was obviously in perfect condition before you started casting spells," Ron muttered sarcastically around a mouthful of food, before quieting and adding more mash to his plate at Hermione's withering look.

Malfoy cleared his throat, before lifting up his fork and putting a small bit of food into his mouth.

"I'm sure I'll manage, Weasel," he directed at Ron, ignoring Ron's sputters of indignation before turning back to look at Hermione, who was jabbing her knife rather furiously into the jar of jam. "And Granger, I just wanted to say….that I….I appreciate what you did last night."

Hermione perked up a little. "Your welcome, Malfoy," she answered, surprised and pleased that he had acknowledged her actions.

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to say something further, but he glanced at Ron, and then went back to forking hot food into his mouth.

A silence descended upon the group, only disturbed by the clatter of silverware and Ron's chewing. Harry would glance up from his tea cup every so often, eyes trailing to Malfoy's back, and then looking down again. After the eighth time, Malfoy made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and finally caught Harry's eye.

"It's not a tattoo, Potter," Malfoy sighed, accepting the fact that if he wanted Harry's cooperation, then he was going to have to be a bit more honest. He just wasn't sure if he was ready for the long explanation that lay ahead. "It's only a spell to make it look like a tattoo, so that my real heritage could be hidden."

"And what is your real heritage, Malfoy? Going to tell me you're not pureblood after all," Harry laughed, though he stopped abruptly once he heard Malfoy's even, "Yes."

At Harry's look of shock, Malfoy glanced to where Hermione and Ron were sitting, and was pleased to note that their mouths weren't closed either.

"There is such a thing as being pure of magical blood, and not having Muggle ancestry in your lineage. In that respects, I am a pureblood. But that does not mean that I am entirely of wizarding blood. There is a bit of Veela blood in my family, that has remained dormant as it passed through the generations, until it could be triggered by a natural source of power to be made dominant once again," Malfoy calmly explained.

"Unfortunately," he continued, frowning, "Voldemort turning into a psychotic bastard last summer and torturing me until my dormant genes finally kicked in and absorbed the power so I wouldn't _die_ doesn't really count as a 'natural' power source. So only one of the Veela traits manifested itself in me."

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted. "If you've got Veela blood, then why aren't we falling all over ourselves trying to impress you?"

Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement, thought Ron still continued to shovel food into his mouth even as his head bobbed up and down.

"It takes a great deal of magical power to change an entire species, Potter, even when the genes are there. In fact, it has only been accomplished a handful of times throughout history. That obviously didn't happen that night, since I am obviously still very much human. What happened with Voldemort was an increase in a power to torture, to cause pain. And what happens to Veela when they are upset, Potter?" Draco replied leadingly.

"They…they turn into bird...things," Harry answered.

"How very eloquent, Potter, though not quite. But they do sprout wings and beaks and claws. But the point is, that their rather…lust-inspiring qualities are gone at that stage. And it was at that stage that Voldemort trapped me in last summer, at a point where my body couldn't physically handle the amount of power that _Crucio _was putting me through. My mind was about to crack. But instead, my Veela genes awakened and manipulated the power from the curse. But because _Crucio_ is obviously a Dark curse, the darker aspects of the Veela are the ones that came through."

"But you said that only one trait--" Hermione began in protest.

"Yes, well, I was getting ahead of myself. As I said before, Voldemort's power is not a 'natural' source. It is dark source, and _Crucio_ only added to that fact. And remember, my body wasn't willingly accepting this power. It only absorbed the power to save my sanity. So to that effect, only one trait was triggered, because it would have taken a 'natural' power for the rest of them to be manifested. So I only have one trait of the Veela, and it will forever be in an awakened stage because of the violent state that I was in when it was created," Malfoy finished.

Harry and Ron were still looking at Malfoy like he had started speaking another language, but Hermione had a keen look of interest in her eye. And at the dawning look of comprehension that soon crossed her face, Malfoy gave her a slight nod and beckoned her over.

"I believe you know the spell to reveal something hidden, Granger?"

Hermione nodded, murmuring words under her breath. Malfoy moved his back a bit and almost grimaced, before the tattooed wings on his back gave way to reveal the real thing. Beautiful black seraphic wings emerged from between Malfoy's shoulder blades, with silver edges and an aura that emitted power and strength. Only Harry noticed a certain other thing that the spell had also revealed.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured, a piece of toast falling out of his open mouth.

"About time you stopped eating, Weasley," Malfoy commented, staring disapprovingly at the toast that had fallen from Ron's mouth. "I thought you were going for a world record of some sort."

It was a credit to Ron's shock that he did not retort to Malfoy's dig, and simply continued to stare at the large wings protruding from Malfoy's back, flapping slightly in his irritation.

"Malfoy, may I…" Hermione trailed off, though the question was clear as her hand hovered over his wings.

"No, Granger," Malfoy snapped, shifting so that her hand was further away from him. "I don't want you touching them with your dirty hands."

Hermione immediately shrunk back into her seat, the small bit of friendliness and acceptance that she had been trying to exhibit immediately falling. Harry was a bit startled at both of their reactions, but the show wasn't over yet.

Ron abruptly stood up, all six feet and five inches towering over Malfoy's smaller, seated frame.

"Apologize to her, Malfoy!" he spat out.

"You don't understand, Weasel--" Malfoy began.

"No, Ron, it's fine. It's no big--" Hermione started.

"It is a big deal, Hermione!" Ron shouted over them, eyes flickering over to her quickly, before settling a glare on Malfoy again. "You saved this murderer, this Death Eater, this _freak_ from bleeding to death. You helped him, and now he's treating you like the fucking dirt from the bottom of his boots. Nothing has change here! He's just another Death Eater that we should be turning in to the Ministry. Just because he says he got tortured by You-Know-Who doesn't mean--"

"Do you know what it's like, Weasley?" Malfoy interrupted loudly, standing up so that he only had to look up six inches instead of three feet. "To be lying there, flat on the ground, pain in every square inch of your body? You feel all your memories as they flash through your mind. You feel the wind on your face and wish it didn't blow so hard, didn't cause so much pain. Do you know how it feels to be afraid, not knowing when your time is up? Lying there, frozen on the ground, your eyes wide open to the sky, barely able to see the stars. I do. I know because that is what the Dark Lord did to me. So don't you dare say that being tortured by Voldemort is a nothing experience."

"No," Ron bit out, barely able to control himself. "I don't know what that's like. But I do know what it's like to ingest poison. To have it burn and bubble and creep throughout your body like an acidic fire, ruining everything in its path. I know what it's like to think you are going to die, to see your best friend staring at you in horror, to see the shock and pain you are feeling reflected out of their eyes. I know what it's like to be an inch away from death, Malfoy, and I know this, because of _you_."

Ron looked directly into Malfoy's eyes at that moment, looked straight into those mercury depths and just as it had been for the past seven years, he didn't like what he saw. But even if Ron didn't like it, he couldn't deny that something flickered in Malfoy's eyes after he had finished speaking.

Malfoy stared at Ron's face for a few more seconds, before turning and rushing back to Harry's room as quickly as his recovering body would allow, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that went well."

Harry and Ron turned to look at Hermione, but she just stood up and started collecting the dishes and putting them into the sink. A few more moments of silence passed through them, before Harry sighed a bit and got up as well. Ron sat back down and continued eating the rest of his breakfast, chewing slowly and staring out the window. Hermione's movements were a bit jerky as she handled the dishes, but Harry was very quiet and calm. The only indication that something was going on behind his eyes were the glances he cast to his door every now and again, noticing the few black feathers that trailed to the doorway, before he shook his head and went back to the familiar task of cleaning.

* * *

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry looked up to see Hermione staring at him with a face full of concern, hand running absentmindedly through Ron's red hair as he slept sprawled out on the couch with his head in her lap. It had been a couple hours since the fiasco of that morning, but that didn't push the issue any further from Harry's mind.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry answered, flashing her a half-hearted smile.

"Are you sure?" she pressed.

"Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind," Harry said, going back to staring at his bedroom door.

A few more moments of silence passed.

"This is about Malfoy, isn't it?" Hermione asked. Harry groaned under his breath. Sometimes Hermione just didn't know when to leave things alone.

"Yes. This is about Malfoy," Harry replied, voice a bit harder, trying to warn her off.

"Is it about what he said? About what Ron said to him?"

"Yes, Hermione! It's about all of that," Harry half-shouted, exasperatedly turning around to face his friend.

"It's about the fact that he showed up out of nowhere after a year, broken and bloody and needing our help. It's about the fact that somehow after everything that he has done, I both hate and _can't_ hate him. It's about the fact that when Ron was talking about nearly dying from poison, because of _him_, that I wasn't thinking about Ron. All I could see was _fucking _Malfoy, lying there on the floor of the girls' bathroom, bleeding to death, because of _me_. Because of a spell that _I _cast, because all I knew is that I wanted to hurt him. And I did. _And it nearly fucking killed him!"_

Hermione stared at Harry in shock, not quite believing all that she was hearing. Harry hadn't flown off the handle like that since maybe Fifth year. Ron had woken up from the yelling, and was now twisted around on the couch, grasping Hermione's hand tightly in his own. He stared at his best friend uncomprehendingly. Just what was going on here?

"I saw it, Hermione. When you cast the spell to reveal those, those…wings. I saw his chest. He has scars. You both were too busy looking at his wings, but I saw them. They're…they're awful. And I put them there. I did that to him. It doesn't matter that I've killed Voldemort or done in a bunch of other nameless Death Eaters. This was in Sixth year; this was in school, not on a battlefield."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, unable to look at his friends any longer.

"I can't hate him, because of what I've done to him. He isn't just some faceless person in dark robes. He was a scared kid that I nearly killed…Fuck. I don't like him. But I can't hate him."

A silence had descended upon the group, and they all sit quietly, thinking their own thoughts. No one noticed that Malfoy had been listening at the doorway of Harry's bedroom, eyes growing wider at every word Harry had said.

"But Harry, what about Dumbledore?" Hermione asked a bit hesitantly. Harry felt a flare of sorrow and anger at the mention of his old Headmaster, but he quelled it.

"I…I don't know. You didn't see him in that bathroom, Hermione. He was scared. Really and truly scared. When Dumbledore offered him protection that night in the tower, he…well, it looked like he was considering it. It's really the only reason he's here right now, I think. Dumbledore thought he could see something in Malfoy. Maybe there is something there, after all," Harry mused, trying to sort out his feelings and his confusion.

"Yeah, well Dumbledore also thought that he saw something in Snape, now, didn't he?" Ron pointed out immediately. "Look how that turned out."

He winced slightly as Hermione's elbow connected with his stomach, but it didn't deter the look on Harry's face at Ron's words. A year and an entire war later, and he still couldn't believe the old man was really gone. Maybe Harry had known that Dumbledore's time was drawing nearer. There was certainly a lot of damage before that night in the tower: the blackened hand, the potion from Voldemort's trap, even just old age. Maybe in the back of his mind Harry had known that there wasn't a way for Dumbledore to last much longer, war or no war, but it didn't make the loss any easier. It almost made it harder, in a way. Like maybe he should have known better, had tried to help more. Not let him drink the potion. Not let him get so tired. Because Dumbledore was so _tired _those last few months. And now Harry wondered just what Dumbledore was so tired of.

His thoughts were caught off yet again by a hand that was hovering by his shoulder. Harry turned to look and saw Malfoy standing there, holding him self rather awkwardly as he looked Harry in the eye. Malfoy seemed to be looking for something, and Harry didn't know what it was, so he just looked back.

It was only a matter of seconds before his eyes drifted down to the pale scars that were protruding from Malfoy's chest. A year later, and they still looked just as horrible as they did when the gashes were fresh and new, blood gushing out onto the tile floor of the bathroom. They were hard lines of raised lashes, stark white against Malfoy's already pale skin, and they seemed to glow and ripple with every breath that he took. Snape had said there might not be scarring, but…if this is what it looked like with the help that had come so quickly, Harry shuddered to think what it would have looked like if Snape hadn't immediately taken Malfoy to the infirmary. And now Malfoy would have another scar, running along from his back to his hip bone.

Hesitantly, Harry broke his gaze from Malfoy's chest, and then looked back up into gray eyes that were still staring at his face. It must have been what Malfoy wanted, though, since he hesitantly brought his hand down to rest on Harry's shoulder, and Harry was so confused that he didn't stop him.

"I…I forgive you for that, Potter," Malfoy rasped out, nodding slightly to indicate his chest.

And Harry just stared at Malfoy's pale face, still tired and weary from the events of the past 24 hours, and who knew what else before he had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, dead on his feet. Malfoy lightly squeezed the hand that still gripped Harry's shoulder, before turning toward where Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch. He nodded at them; nodded at Ron, understanding that no matter what he could say, nothing would change the past. He walked over to the last empty chair and set himself heavily into it, running an agitated hand through his hair, before looking up at the three other people in the room.

"I guess I owe you an explanation as to where I've been, and why I've come back," Malfoy said slowly.

At the nods he received in response to his statement, Malfoy just looked down at his hands again, before meeting their eyes once more.

"All right then. Well, I suppose there's nothing like the beginning."


	4. Chapter 3: Meaningful Conversation

-Chapter 3-

June 23, 1998

Harry settled down into his chair, nursing the hot chocolate that he had mixed with Firewhiskey when Hermione wasn't looking. He felt he could use it, after the day and night that he'd had.

First, there was the business with Malfoy and the apparent Veela wings that he now sported. It was a little after one in the morning now, which meant that he had been aware of Malfoy's condition for a little over 14 hours, and he didn't understand it any better now than he did then. From what he could work out, Malfoy had Veela genes wouldn't kick in until they were forced to by another power, and that power turned out to be Voldemort. But because it was Voldemort, that power was given to him through pain, not through a more neutral conduit, so the only Veela trait that emerged was one that occurred when a Veela was angry. So, he had sprung wings. Great, whatever. Still didn't make sense in Harry's mind, but Hermione seemed to understand it, so at least that part of the story made sense. Kind of.

Second, Malfoy had explained about how he had gone into hiding with Snape immediately following the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts at the end of their Sixth year. It was lucky for Malfoy that he looked right miserable and sorry about his assistance for that attack, because Ron certainly hadn't forgotten what Fenrir Greyback had done to his brother, Bill, and had been able to do because of Malfoy. If Malfoy hadn't let the Death Eaters in, then Bill might be sporting all of his face instead of what now remained. Though, Harry had to admit, it did show a bit loyalty on Fleur's part; the rest of the family was sure that her obsession with appearance and own great deal of vanity would turn her away from Bill. How surprised they were when she stuck by his side, claiming to be beautiful enough for the both of them!

According to Malfoy, he had followed Snape back to Spinner's End, where they had stayed until they were summoned by Voldemort a few days later. Snape was rewarded for killing Dumbledore, while Malfoy was punished for his inability to complete the assigned task. The only reason he was not killed outright was because he had allowed for the Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts through the pair of Vanishing Cabinets from Borges and Burke. At least that had gone according to plan, even though it had taken him a ridiculously long period of time to fix the cabinet, Voldemort had said, before punishing him again for his incompetence.

A couple more rounds of _Crucio_, and Voldemort was back to his old self: ranting and raving about how irritating that Potter brat was, and how useless all of his Death Eaters were, being unable to kill a mere boy for him. Malfoy had dragged himself back to his place in the circle, barely able to stand after two bouts of _Crucio_, but managing to hold himself together for a little while.

Not long enough, apparently, as Voldemort noticed his slouched posture and the slight lowering of his eyes from pain and exhaustion. Enraged that Malfoy had not given him the fullest of attentions, Voldemort flew into a rage and cast _Crucio_ yet again on the blonde. A third time proved too much for Malfoy's body to handle, and thus began the transformation that Malfoy had talked about. His body absorbed the power, his life was saved, and he had a whole other body part to learn how to move.

This was a bit dangerous now, however, since it wouldn't do to have a scared seventeen year old Veela winged Death Eater in Voldemort's circle. So Malfoy did what he did best: he ran.

As soon as Snape had fed him enough potions so that he could move once again, Malfoy grabbed his few possessions, withdrew some money from his account, and hightailed it out of England. He would have gone to France, since he did indeed speak French and had several distant cousins that lived in the French countryside, but that would have been too obvious. So, Spain it was. Madrid was not at all what he had expected. It was noisy and crowded and there were people all over the place, walking and biking and driving and _dear god _all of those fucking tourists would someone please kill him right now?

But Malfoy managed to tough it out. He learned Castilian Spanish, adopted the customs and learned to eat the food, at the appointed hour. Though no matter how hard he tried, he could never manage to enjoy dinner at ten o'clock at night, even after nearly eight months.

Those eight months in exile proved useful, however, for Malfoy was able to study magic underground, learning new spells and potions, including the one that he employed to conceal his wings. By mid-March he had been working on a potion that would enable him to retract and expand his wings at will, so that he could literally pull them into his back, making his appearance normal. It was also around this time that word reached him that Harry Potter had finally defeated Voldemort. No other details had come across, just a whisper of something called a "Horcrux." So Malfoy had packed up his few things, grabbed himself a long distance Portkey, and made for England.

That's were things got a bit blurry. Malfoy himself said he wasn't sure what happened, but he did know that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet anyways.

Now here they were. Harry sitting there on the couch with his cup of slightly tainted hot chocolate, mind spinning in all directions. Hermione was sleeping with her head in Ron's lap, an exact mirror of the positions that they had been in previously that afternoon. Malfoy was also asleep in the armchair that he had collapsed into before he had begun spinning his tale. Harry still wasn't sure he believed all of it, and certain spots definitely needed to be examined further, but for now Malfoy's explanation would have to suffice.

What irked Harry was that he still had no idea what had happened to Malfoy before he found them at the Three Broomsticks. He had no idea where those horrible injuries had come from, nor why Malfoy had insisted on staying and speaking with Harry. When coming to that part of the story, Malfoy had claimed to be too tired to continue, promising to explain further in the morning.

Well, it was technically morning now, wasn't it? Harry asked himself. The clock read five minutes to two, and surely he could just wake Malfoy up, drag him over to the bedroom, and force the Slytherin to answer his many questions. But Harry also knew in the back of his mind that Malfoy would only tell Harry what he wanted to, and that no matter how much Harry prodded, he was going to be silent on the matter.

Sighing at having such a ridiculously stubborn and irritating person resting in _his_ _favorite_ _armchair_, Harry drained the rest of his mug and set it on the little table to his left. He rubbed his eyes, annoyed that he still couldn't sleep after the entirely exhausting few days he had just had. Standing up he stretched as far as he could, arching his back and throwing both arms over his head, nearly rising onto the tips of his toes in his effort to elongate his body as much as possible. He could feel the bottom of his t-shirt rise up at his motion, and as he relaxed his body from the stretch, his right hand came down to rub the bit of skin from navel to pelvis that had previously been exposed. His eyes closed involuntarily as he yawned, feeling tired but unable to sleep

A slight noise snapped Harry's eyes open and he immediately grabbed his wand from his back pocket and aimed it at the disturbance. He relaxed a second later, however, as he saw that the only thing that had moved was Malfoy, who was no longer asleep but was gazing at Harry intently.

"Damn, Malfoy. I thought you were someone else," Harry muttered, lowering his wand and stuffing it back into his pocket.

Malfoy didn't react to Harry's statement, only continued to stare at him, eyes roving over Harry's body over and over again. Harry stood there, unsure of himself and very uncomfortable under Malfoy's scrutiny.

"Malfoy?" Harry ventured, stepping closer so that he could see Malfoy properly. The room was hardly spacious, but the lighting was dim and it was hard to make out certain features correctly.

What Harry saw, though, left him feeling even more uncertain, for Malfoy was looking at Harry in a way that Harry was sure he never had before. His eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated so much that Harry could barely see any gray. He couldn't read the expression on Malfoy's face, but since his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were not narrowed in anger as was usual around Harry, he assumed that he need not take out his wand again.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" Harry tried again, stepping over so he was directly in front of Malfoy, and crouching down until they were eye level. And still the blonde did not move, continuing to just stare at Harry. Concern settling in, Harry reached out and grasped Malfoy by the shoulders in an attempt to jar some sense into him. What ended up happening, however, was that Malfoy snapped into it before he could do anything but rest his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Potter," Malfoy answered him, voice a bit deeper than normal, sounding as if Malfoy was straining to merely answer Harry.

Harry jumped a bit at the sudden reaction, though his hands remained where they were and he stayed in his crouched position.

"Alright there Malfoy?" Harry said, searching the man's eyes and trying to figure out what was going on.

"I'm fine, Potter. Thanks for the concern," Malfoy replied slowly. "Would you mind letting me go now?"

Harry startled a bit, unaware that he still had Malfoy in his grasp, but he nodded and released the boy, standing up even though it felt a bit awkward to be so much taller than the boy who was still looking at him.

"We should probably change those bandages," Harry said quietly, eyeing the red stains on Malfoy's side, before moving into the kitchen so he could locate some more medicinal tools, not looking back to see if Malfoy had followed or not.

He apparently had, and quite closely as well, for when Harry turned around, hands full of more alcohol and clean bandages, he nearly walked straight into the blonde. As it was, he ended up dropping more than one item on the floor.

"Bugger," Harry muttered under his breath, crouching down once more and grabbing items off of the floor. He was a bit surprised when he leaned over to reach for the last bottle, and Malfoy had already grasped it and was handing it to him. As Harry took hold of the bottle, his hand brushed over Malfoy's and the other boy's fingertips seemed to linger a bit longer than was necessary. Harry shrugged it off, though, think he was just imagining things in his tired state. Nodding his thanks, he indicated that they should move back to the bedroom.

"Lie down again," Harry directed softly, indicating the bed and nudging the door shut behind him.

Malfoy did what he was asked, lying face down on the bed so that Harry could more easily access his back and side, though he would have to move a little when Harry cleaned the front part of the wound as well. Harry set the bottle, ointment and bandages on the floor, then fetched a towel from the bathroom before settling down on the floor by his bed.

Very carefully Harry removed the old bandages, grimacing internally once the angry wound was revealed to show crusted blood and a little inflammation. As he slowly applied a wet cloth to the area, Harry wondered at how Malfoy was dealing with the pain. He had certainly never been one to have dealt with blood easily before, as a certain third year Care of Magical Creatures incident came to mind. But then again, they were absolutely certain that Malfoy was faking the majority of the injury, though it did look right nasty when Buckbeak had first slashed the boy's arm. Being attacked by a huge animal was surely not a thirteen year old's idea of a fun lesson. Breaking out of his reverie, Harry started to talk himself through what he was doing, knowing that he would be less likely to mess up if he did it that way.

"I'm just cleaning the cut with some water now, Malfoy," Harry explained, "and then we'll disinfect it again with the alcohol, and I found some ointment for the inflammation. The ointment should also ease the pain a little as well."

Malfoy looked up sharply at the mention of alcohol. "That was the stuff that nearly burned me a new orifice, wasn't it Potter?" he asked warily.

Harry had to stifle a chuckle. "Well, I've never heard it described quite like that before, but yeah, Malfoy. It does burn a bit."

"A bit? A bit, Potter! I'll have you know that that ridiculous substance that Granger poured on me--" Malfoy began, but he stopped to let out a hiss of pain as Harry applied a cloth saturated with said 'ridiculous substance' against his cut.

"I'm going to need you to turn a bit, Malfoy, so that I can get your stomach as well," Harry asked, ignoring the murderous look Malfoy was now giving him. So much for that shaky truce that had been going on.

But Malfoy just continued to glare at Harry before he finally twisted a bit, grimacing but also exposing his pale stomach so Harry could dab it with alcohol and then the special ointment. A few minutes later and Malfoy was standing up so Harry could bandage up his side without any disruptions from the bed sheets. They were standing quite close, and Harry could feel every breath that Malfoy took, in both the way that his chest rose steadily and in how his breath tickled across Harry's neck as he leaned over to better place the bandages.

Finishing up, Harry allowed himself a small triumphant smile. Just as good as Hermione would have done; maybe even better, he thought. Rising up so that he could look Malfoy in the eye, he was surprised a bit at how much taller the other boy now seemed. Where Malfoy seemed to carry the tall and slender stature that his father, however evil, had once employed, Harry was still a bit on the skinny side. He was a bit taller than Malfoy though, only by an inch at the maximum, but it was enough that Harry was praising the growth spurt that had finally kicked in.

"There, you're fine," Harry commented, the euphoria he felt for a job well done fading as it was replaced with an entirely different type of feeling as his eyes met Malfoy's again. For some reason, he couldn't help but continue to look into them and wonder if they were a pathway into Malfoy's mind. That if maybe he could figure out what in the world was going on, just by looking into those gray eyes.

Harry shook himself slightly, wondering where all of this 'sentimental stuff,' as Ron always called it, was coming from. He turned away from Malfoy and started gathering up all of the materials on the bed. He could feel the blonde hesitate for a moment, before a pale hand reached out and began helping him. Together they gathered everything and placed it carefully in the kitchen, and when they were done, a silence ensued. It was neither awkward nor comfortable; it just was. Knowing that the silence would simply continue, Harry walked back into his living room and sat back down on the couch again, gesturing for Malfoy to sit across from him once more. Once they were seated, looking at each other a bit hesitantly, Harry realized he had absolutely no idea what to say. Scrounging around, he saw Ron still asleep on the sofa, and blurted out the only thing he could think of.

"So, how about them Cannons?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 4: Laying Under Starlight

-Chapter 4-

July 31, 1998

A few weeks later found Harry and the Weasleys in a flurry as they set about getting ready for Harry's eighteenth birthday party. It was to be held at the Burrow and everyone from Remus and Tonks to Neville Longbottom would be attending. For the first time in his life, Harry would be having a party that was all for him. Hermione joked that she wasn't sure if Harry could stand all of the attention. Harry wasn't sure how much of that statement was a joke.

Right now he was in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley, trying to convince her that one gigantic cake was enough, and that he really, really didn't need the other three dessert cakes that she had created, nor the waterfall of chocolate and various dipping fruits that was also adorning the center of the table. He wasn't proving very successful, however, as with every protest he made, she just smiled and with tears in her eyes said, "Oh, Harry, dear, I can't believe what a handsome young man you've become. You'll let me do this one thing for you, won't you dear?"

And really, what could he say to that?

He had just opened his mouth for the fifth time in attempt to try and maybe get rid of the lightening bolt shaped cake, when Draco Malfoy walked through the door, wings expanded and a purple gunk dripping from the blonde locks that fell around his eyes.

"Potter, I realize that some things will never change, but do you think you could control your friends' antics for perhaps fifteen minutes, so I could finish the decorations for _your_ party?" Malfoy asked scathingly. He waited for Harry's nod before he trudged upstairs in search of a bathroom, eyes wandering in distaste at the various crocheted afghans and ottomans that Mrs. Weasley had around the house, and complaining about forced menial labor that wasn't even appreciated.

"Fred! George!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, already heading outside where minor explosions were taking place.

Harry sighed, staring at the monstrosities that were before him. He could have had a nice quiet get together with his close friends, but no, they had talked him into having a blowout party, and it was a decision that Harry was soon coming to regret.

Just as he was considering hiding all but the Snitch shaped cake, Malfoy came back down the stairs, looking cleaner but no less angry.

"I'm blaming you, Potter, for being unable to control these ruffians," Malfoy warned Harry. "If I so much as get one string of that ridiculous substance," Harry was mouthing the words along with him now, "on my wings, I will be coming after you." Malfoy gave Harry another glare before storming off to the backyard, crouching down slightly before kicking off the ground with his feet and flying over to the nearest treetop, wrapping various decorations around it and muttering under his breath about insane redheads and their plebian children.

Harry chuckled slightly as he turned his attention back to the cakes. He and Malfoy had come to a sort of truce, that was neither stable nor volatile, but simply existed. Malfoy was fully healed and recuperated, but was still living in Harry's small flat. He spent the majority of his time in the kitchens or sneaking up to the dungeons at Hogwarts, where he could work more on the potion for his wings. He was coming extremely close, he said, and soon he would no longer need the aid of a wand to hide the large black wings.

Harry told himself that the reason he let Malfoy stay was because he still wanted to know what had happened to him during those few months. Malfoy, however, refused to discuss the matter, and always changed the subject whenever Harry brought it up. While Harry had allowed Malfoy to keep quiet about something he obviously thought was private, his patience was still waning. He wanted to know what had happened, and he wanted to know why Malfoy refused to leave, claiming Harry's protection. Voldemort was dead and the majority of the Death Eaters had been captured. So the question was, why did Malfoy need protection? And from whom?

Loud shouts from outside reminded Harry of the task at hand, and he quickly banished the lightening bolt cake to the back of the cupboard before joining the rest of the family outside to see what was going on. As was expected, Malfoy was having a fighting match with Ron, while Hermione tried to mediate.

Malfoy and Hermione had managed to get along quite well the past month or so. Hermione was genuinely trying to befriend him, and Malfoy appreciated her intelligence, often asking her questions about research in various fields. Privately, Harry thought that Hermione was just softening up to Malfoy because she wanted to know more about his wings, and wanted to witness the potion he was brewing. She always had loved excessive knowledge. And that logic and knowledge was now being put to use, as she tried to cool her hot-tempered boyfriend and the irate part-Veela by his side.

"I told you, Weasley, I've had enough. I refuse to put with your idiocy any longer. Stop badgering me and leave me alone!" Malfoy shouted over Hermione's head.

"This is a special day for Harry, Malfoy, and I won't have you mucking it up!" Ron yelled back.

"I'm not mucking it up, you idiot! I'm trying to help so the speccy git can have a nice day, alright?" Malfoy's wings were beating back and forth furiously, blowing up the wind around them.

"No, what you are doing is ruining everything!" Ron bellowed.

"Both of you quiet!"

Harry and Hermione both looked startled that they had spoken at the same time.

"Can't you two stop arguing for one bleeding day?" Harry asked, exasperation coming through in his voice. "It's my eighteenth birthday, it's not going to happen again, and I would like to enjoy it while it lasts. So would you both mind shutting up and getting on with things?" Harry groaned as he heard Mrs. Weasley's exclamation of surprise from the kitchen.

"Please?" he asked one more time, before turning around and heading back to sooth the matriarch of the family.

Malfoy simply nodded while Ron managed a "Sorry, Harry," before Hermione had turned on them with brisk instructions to hurry and finish setting everything up before the guests arrived, and to _please_ leave each other alone.

* * *

"Happy birthday to Harry! Happy birthday to you!" sang the crowd, cheering and laughing as Harry struggled to blow all the candles on his many birthday cakes.

"Alright, alright, now who wants what?" Mrs. Weasley asked, bustling forward and brushing tears out of her eyes as she started to cut the cakes and pass the pieces around.

Harry thanked her jovially for his piece of cake, before heading off to sit with his back against one of the large trees set around the glen. He had spent the past two hours joking around and entertaining the many people who had gathered to celebrate the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday, and it had turned out to be just as exhausting as he thought it would.

It was good to see everyone again, though, Harry thought as he licked some frosting off his fork. It had only been a little while, but everyone had news. Seamus and Lavender were an item now; Seamus worked in the Department of Games and Sports and Lavender was an apprentice to one of the Diviners that was traded off between the Department of Mysteries and the Aurors. Dean was attending a Muggle university and playing football in London, where he was considering playing professionally. Neville and Luna were seeing each other as well, and they had just come back from an exploration from the Scandinavian countries with Luna's father, looking for Crumpled Snorlacks, of course. Remus and Tonks were as happy as ever, just enjoying one another's company now that she had finally convinced him that he deserved a little happiness. Hagrid was in France, wooing Madame Maxine; from his letters, Harry wasn't quite sure whether the plans of romance were working or not.

And then there was the entire Weasley brood. Bill and Fleur were still happily married and Fleur was expecting their first child sometime in early December. She and Mrs. Weasley were in a tizzy, as Mrs. Weasley continued to offer helpful tips on babies and Fleur kept on referring back to her own mother, a very beautiful and cold woman that Mrs. Weasley did not like in the slightest. Charlie was married to his dragons, as usual, but he had managed to pry himself away for Harry's birthday. Harry was very glad that Percy had not come, though Harry had felt obliged to send him an invitation as per Mrs. Weasley's request. Harry still thought the horn-rimmed traitor was a stuffy creep; no matter how much time had passed, he would still see him as the man who had used his own family, or rather dismissed them, to better his position in the Ministry. The twins were as mischievous and full of laughter as always. The shop in Diagon Alley was doing brilliantly, and they were now working on plans to expand to a shop in Hogsmeade as well.

And of course Harry saw Ron all of the time, and Ginny came along occasionally as well, when she wasn't with her boyfriend of the moment. They had changed so rapidly over the past year that Harry had tried to stop paying attention, and it hard worked fairly well with his mind occupied by Voldemort and Horcruxes and prophecies foretelling of imminent death or murder. Now that Harry had nothing to occupy his time, however, he was more aware than ever of how alone he truly felt. Ron and Hermione were wonderful, and Ginny had been great during 6th year, but Harry could now look back on that and realize that it was perhaps more friendship and slight attraction than any real chemistry that he and Ginny might have had together. Harry didn't like to think of it as convenience, but the more he thought about, the more his mind drifted in that direction. He had needed comfort and Ginny was funny and attractive and…this was not a good line of thought to be continuing on. Good thing Ron had never, nor ever would, learn Legilimency, or Harry would probably have lost all of his limbs ten times over by now.

Harry had almost finished his cake when a hand abruptly came down on his neck, forcing his face into the reminder of the frosting. Harry yelped, jerking his head back up as soon as the pressure was released. He spun his head around, trying to find his attacker, but his glasses were smeared with chocolate frosting, and he was fairly certain that the frosting would settle into his hair before he would be able to steal away for a quick shower.

Gasps of laughter drew Harry's attention to the sky, and it was only then that he noticed the slight breeze that was blowing above him. Taking off his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt in an effort to clean them, Harry squinted while craning his neck so he could look directly above himself. All he could make out as a dark blob hovering a dozen or so feet above him, but it was enough.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted, exasperated and yet amused in spite of himself.

"Yes, Potter?" the blonde chuckled.

"Come down here so I can see you," Harry called up, still rubbing furiously at his glasses, but really only smearing the frosting more with his efforts.

"Really, Potter, are you a wizard or aren't you?" Malfoy asked, swooping down so that he was crouching in front of Harry on the clean grass. "Where's your wand?"

"Er…here," Harry answered, pulling it from his back pocket. He stared dully at Malfoy's blurry face, still unsure of what was being asked of him.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! How do you function, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, yanking the wand from Harry's grip and quickly casting a cleaning charm on the glasses.

"…Thanks, Malfoy," Harry said, putting his glasses back on and staring at the blonde in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah. Happy fucking birthday, Potter," Malfoy said, tossing Harry his wand back as he stood up and turned to walk away. About five paces away, he turned back and added, "You shouldn't keep your wand in your back pocket, Potter. You never know when it might go off."

With that final statement, Malfoy retreated back into the Burrow and the solitude of the kitchen, as the backyard was crawling with people who did not like nor trust Malfoys. Harry just continued to stare at Malfoy's retreating back, smiling broadly for some inexplicable reason.

* * *

"Thank you so much for coming. Yes, thank you. Thanks, Remus, I'll see you next week. Bye, Tonks, thanks for coming. Goodbye, Professor McGonagall. Yes, I'll be sure to stop by Hogwarts for that demonstration on the first of October. Thanks again, yes, yes, thank you. Yes, I'll be sure and keep my eyes open, Moody. Yes, constant vigilance is very important. Thanks Seamus, see you around. That's great, Dean, I'll be there. Moody! I understand…yes, Polyjuice is definitely a possibility…yes, I'll be there in the morning. Yes, _goodbye_," Harry managed a smile, that looked more like the grimace he was wanting to wear, as he bid off the last of his guests.

Twilight had settled on the remaining party, and Harry turned with a sigh to start helping the Weasleys clean up. Overall, it had been a great success. Harry had managed to catch up with all of his old friends. About halfway through the party Buckbeak, or rather Witherwings, had arrived with a package from Hagrid. How he had managed to tame the creature enough to navigate in his absence was a bit of a mystery, but as soon as Harry had bowed and retrieved Hagrid's present, Buckbeak had leapt into the air and flown away. It didn't escape Harry's notice that Malfoy was mysteriously absent from the sky when Buckbeak had arrived.

At first the blonde had refused to spread his wings and fly in the open air, but time and a never ending irritation with one Harry James Potter had cured that. About two weeks into his stay, Malfoy had caught Harry playing some Quidditch, keeping up his Seeker skills as he flew lazily around the pitch on his Firebolt. After some insinuating comments about money, talent, and a lack there of when someone was a Malfoy, Malfoy had thrown caution to the wind, as was always the case with Harry, and raced around the pitch. Wings gave him a different kind of flight, and for once in his life, he beat Harry to the Snitch. Since then, he had been more comfortable about flying in other people's presence, so long as they didn't gawk for too long. Malfoy loved the attention, sure, but there was a difference between being admired and being stared at because people found you strange, even by wizarding standards.

Harry opened up and quickly read the letter from Hagrid and, sure enough, inside the package he found some homemade scones and biscuits. Surprisingly though, he also found an array of French chocolates, which upon further reading were to have been recommended by Madame Maxine. Popping one in his mouth, Harry enjoyed the sweet taste of chocolate and tart raspberry that exploded onto his tongue. He set down the gifts inside the kitchen, and then headed back outside to help Ron take down some decorations and bring them back into the house.

An hour later found Harry and his friends sitting around the fire in the Weasley's living room, sipping hot chocolate and talking about really nothing at all. Harry himself was seated in an overstuffed chair right by the fire, and he couldn't have been more content. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already gone to bed as had Bill and Fleur, since she had complained of sore feet from standing all day long. Charlie was telling more of his adventures in Romania, Ginny and Ron listening with rapt attention. Hermione was warily listening to the twins as they tried to convince her of some house-elfish law that was soon coming in to effect that would help both the elves and their business.

And then there was Malfoy. He was sitting across the way from Harry, holding his mug and taking long draughts from it every now and then, but not saying a word. Harry noticed that about Malfoy. Before, he had just thought that it was because he hated everyone in his presence, which was certainly true when they had attended Hogwarts. And yet, there was no doubt that Malfoy had been very vocal back then. Now, however, Malfoy seemed to just watch everyone, keeping silent and merely staring with piercing eyes, analyzing every detail before he would interject a comment every so often when no one was expecting it. Harry was surprised to find that he rather liked this quirk of Malfoy's; it was something surprising and unexpected, and seemed to keep the conversation going.

"…So there I was, waiting for this Horntail to go to sleep so he would be vulnerable enough for me and the other guys to spell. He had been screaming all day because of the gash in his side, but he didn't trust us enough yet to point our wands at him and start shooting off spells," Charlie was saying.

"Weasley, are you trying to tell me that the Horntail _knew_ what you were doing?" Malfoy interjected.

There was a slight pause while Charlie was searching for the source that was questioning his knowledge of his passion and career. He finally lighted upon the blonde sitting on his own in the corner, eyebrow raised in skepticism.

"Yeah, Draco. Dragons can sense a wizard's magic, though they usually just brush it off since their hide is so tough. Anyways…" Charlie went on, missing the choked look on Ron's face when he called Malfoy by his given name. Charlie had never went to school with Malfoy, so when they were introduced he took a fascination with Malfoy's first name and they had almost bonded over an interest in dragons.

Harry chuckled as he noticed Ron's discomfort, and even Malfoy was smirking for unintentionally riling Ron up. He was getting a bit hot so close to the fire, though, and he had spent the whole day around everyone, so Harry got up and headed back outside. He took a blanket with him and spread it out on one of the hills in the backyard, laying down on his back and looking up at the stars. There seemed to be so many of them in Ottery St. Catchpole; the rural countryside and lack of city lights let the stars and their beauty shine through the velvety sky, and Harry enjoyed their brightness in the solitude of the night. He was so tired of watching all of his friends; seeing their happiness, even over working to make him happy. No matter their efforts, though, he wasn't happy and he couldn't figure out why.

The quietness was soon disrupted by a grumbling blonde that came over and lay down on the blanket with Harry. Almost letting out a groan at yet another interruption, Harry turned onto his side to look at Malfoy. "What are you doing here?"

"I can't stand those people any longer. You should be grateful that I put up with them for so long, Potter. I don't know how I managed it," Malfoy complained.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry muttered.

"Well, what's got your wand in a knot, Potter?" Malfoy asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. "You just turned eighteen, you had a great party, wonderful presents, all of your friends were here, you spent all day just--oh…" he trailed off at the look on Harry's face.

A silence ensued between the two, before Malfoy finally asked, "Does it really bother you that much, not doing anything while people try and make you happy?"

"I'm sure it must seem like an alien concept to a little rich boy like you, Malfoy, but I'm not used to being waited on hand and foot," Harry snapped back, turning away so he didn't have to meet that piercing gaze.

"It seems that you have already forgotten the months that I spent in Spain, living alone and with only myself to depend on. And those people in there were just trying to show how much they…care," Malfoy said, a slight grimace on his face as he pictured all the redheads in the room doting on flipping Potter.

"Just go away, Malfoy. You don't get it."

"Sure I do, Potter. You just saw all of your friends there, all the people you once knew, and now you realize that not only do they all have something going for them, something to live for, you realize that what they have is exactly what you want. For the past seven years you've been fighting for your life, and now that there are no psychotic bastards, and I mean that quite literally Potter, after your hide…you just don't know what to do with yourself, do you? You've been told that it's your destiny to kill the Dark Lord. Well, you did that. And now you're asking yourself, now what?" Malfoy stated calmly.

Harry had grown stiffer and stiffer with each of Malfoy's statements, and now he was so tense he was almost trembling.

"You've always been defined as the Boy-Who-Lived, and now that you've fulfilled that role, you don't know what else there is…you don't even really know who you are, because everything in your life has been defined by Voldemort, and now that definition is gone. And you're afraid of what that means, of who you really are, because you don't even know yourself," Malfoy finished.

Harry slowly turned over and turned his tear filled eyes over to Malfoy.

"How do you know that?" Harry whispered. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

"Because I was defined by someone else for my entire life as well," Malfoy answered quietly.

"Your fa--" Harry started.

"Lucius," Malfoy corrected. He paused, mulling over how to express his sentiment about the most influential man in his life. "I loved Lucius, and in a lot of ways I still do. But childhood admiration and hero worship have long since passed, and I realize that I will never be what my-- Lucius wanted me to be."

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Harry asked curiously.

Malfoy closed his eyes and was silent for a long time, and Harry thought he wasn't going to answer him, before those gray eyes opened and looked up into the night sky.

"I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that I haven't spoken of my family other than tonight. There is a reason for that. And in time, I will tell you that reason, just as in time I will tell you more about those few missing months."

Malfoy turned his head to look directly into Harry's green eyes.

"But that time is not now."

Harry let this sink in for a moment, before he looked back up at the stars and smiled.

"What would you think if we started over?" Harry asked the silence.

"I think that starting over is impossible for us," Malfoy answered.

Harry stifled a sigh at Malfoy's rejection. He supposed turn about was fair play. But Malfoy wasn't done.

"But you always did like taking on the impossible," the blonde said, turning his head and smirking at Harry.

Harry laughed at that declaration, grinning back at the Slytherin before they both turned their gazes back to the sky and enjoyed the peace of the night.

TBC


	6. Chapter 5: Duels and Witty Repartee

-Chapter 5-

October 1, 1998

Harry took a deep breath as he made his way up the steps of the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Even though he lived in Hogsmeade, he hadn't come back to the school since he left it at the end of his 7th year. It had been a bit odd waking up on the first of September and not taking the Hogwarts Express off of Platform 9¾ from Kings Cross Station in London and arriving at the station in Hogsmeade, all cheerful and bright-eyed for the new year at Hogwarts. Instead Harry had slept in until one in the afternoon and lounged around the empty house until Draco came back from wherever he was and they grabbed something to eat at the Three Broomsticks.

Now he was here, back at Hogwarts at McGonagall's request so he could help with a demonstration for the new dueling club that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was starting up. The last time a dueling club had existed at Hogwarts was during Harry's second year, when Gilderoy Lockhart made a fool of himself and Harry had discovered that he was a Parselmouth. Following that utter disaster, not many other teachers had been so inclined to try again. This new teacher, however, seemed to be unafraid of the task ahead of them.

Entering the Great Hall, Harry was pleased to see that not much had changed in the few months he had been gone. The four houses tables were lined up in the large hall as was usual, house flags hanging from the ceiling and fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. A few students were sitting around and studying, a few couples holding hands, another few Wizard's Chess games being played.

Harry stopped at the end of the Gryffindor table, looking on as a two young first years played Wizard's Chess. The black haired boy was currently taking the rook of the redheaded boy, and it was looking like he would soon have the other boy in check. Harry smiled at the memories that flooded through him, even as the darker ones threatened to break through. He would never forget what he had done so that Hogwarts could remain standing, but it was probably the one thing he wished for the most in the world: to be able to forget.

"Mr. Potter," a voice said behind him.

Harry turned and saw the resident Potions Master, Severus Snape, standing before him.

"Professor," Harry nodded politely. It would be a lie to say that Harry and Snape were the best of friends, and god knew that Harry would never fully be able to forgive Snape for finishing Dumbledore off, but they had reached an agreement during the final year of the war. Neither were eager to break the shaky truce that had been formed. Snape had proven himself to the cause, and redeemed many of the atrocious acts that he had committed, including the betrayal of Harry's parents. By saving their son, the Boy Who Lived, he had found some sense of redemption. When it was apparent that no one else would be able to take his place as Potions Master of Hogwarts, McGonagall had let him back in, despite her slight reluctance. In the end, it truly was Dumbledore's faith in the man that had allowed him to live.

"And what brings you to Hogwarts on this…_fine _morning?" Snape asked, only a hint of a sneer in his voice.

"I invited him, Severus," McGonagall answered before Harry could, sweeping in and smiling pleasantly at her former student. "How are you, Mr. Potter?" she asked warmly.

"Fine, thanks," he smiled.

"Good, good," she nodded, her Scottish brogue coming through strongly. "You'll be required in a wee bit over an hour, so you might as well make yourself comfortable until then. I dare say you'll want to explore the castle and reacquaint yourself a bit, hmm? Classes are almost over, and I'm sure some of the Professors would love it if you'd drop by."

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"Well then, I'll just let Professor O'Malley know that you're here, and that the Room of Requirement will need to be opened for you use. See you there in an hour, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, her tone a bit firmer in the end before she smiled a bit and headed out of the Great Hall.

"Snape," Harry nodded once more at the man before he too left the Great Hall.

Harry wandered around the castle corridors, stopping by Gryffindor tower and saying hi to Ginny and then heading toward the library, where he found Luna Lovegood engaged in the newest copy of the Quibbler. He politely asked after Neville, to which Luna dreamily replied that "the Winkygools said that it will be a good month for us." Rather than get a headache trying to figure out what Winkygools were, Harry just smiled and excused himself, claiming to need to prepare for the demonstration that was starting soon.

He headed up to the seventh floor corridor, amazed at how he had managed to spend seven years climbing up and down all of those staircases, and now just a few months out of practice he could barely manage to make it to the seventh floor without being winded. _Maybe I should start working out or something, _Harry thought to himself as he arrived in front of the Room of Requirement. _Maybe that would give me some focus. _

Harry entered the room and stopped in amazement a foot through the door. The room had really outdone itself this time, with a large dueling stage and arena-like seating, shelves upon shelves of potions and reference books, and even a device that worked a bit like Ominoculars, recording what was done on the stage. It never ceased to boggle Harry's mind all of what magic could accomplish.

The only other person in the room was a stout witch of medium height that had her back turned to him. She appeared to be examining some of the instruments laid out on a table on the far end of the room. She wore dark robes of some material that Harry couldn't identify, though if he had to guess he would say that it was ridiculously expensive and something that Draco would probably wear. Speaking of which, _where was Draco? _Harry thought. He supposed that he was down in the dungeons working away on that potion of his, but he had thought that the blonde would come up to see the duel. They had been getting on really well lately, and he continued to wonder sometimes about their camaraderie.

Harry's musings on Draco were interrupted as his foot banged the corner of the stage and the witch swiftly turned and pointed her wand at his head.

"Who are you?" she barked, voice deep and throaty, wand still trained to point directly between Harry's eyes.

"I'm Harry Potter," he managed. "Who are you?"

The witch seemed to hesitate a moment before she answered, lowering her wand as she did so.

"Gwen O'Malley, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said roughly.

She seemed to be studying Harry's appearance with a rather critical eye, so Harry thought he would just return the favor. She looked to be in her late thirties, with long brown hair that was braided and ran down to the small of her back. She had inquisitive blue eyes that were only marginally covered by the small glasses that she wore. Her face was plain, the only real attractive feature being those blue eyes that were partially covered anyway. She exuded an aura of toughness, found not only in physical strength but in mental as well. Something told Harry that she would put up a mean fight on the battlefield.

"What can I do for you Mr. Potter?" she asked, eyeing him once again before turning abruptly back to the table and picking up a small shiny ball that Harry thought he had seen in Dumbledore's office once.

"Professor McGonagall asked me here today so that I can--"

"Ah, yes, help with the dueling demonstration," Professor O'Malley cut him off. "I still don't know why she asked you here, you have a young look about you and I dare say that you don't have enough experience to handle a duel with me or some of the other Professors. Well, we'll see what you're made of today, boy."

Harry's back straightened at this obvious dismissal. It was clear that this woman thought him to be a recent graduate with too little experience and too much time on his hands. While the latter might have been partially true, the former was certainly not.

"I assure you, Professor, that I have a great deal of experience in the dueling arts, and that I am well equipped to teach these students a little something today," he answered stiffly.

"I'm sure, Mr. Potter," she sniffed, attention concentrated on the silver ball that was now floating about a foot in front of her.

Just as Harry was about to let her know who he was, since she had obviously been living under a rock for the past few years, the door sprung open and students started pouring in, with a couple of professors trailing behind them. Apparently the word had spread that Harry Potter was coming here to duel with their professor, and the students couldn't be more pleased. None of them found her to be likeable and often commented that the only person stricter than she was, was Professor Snape, and even he had lightened up a little bit after the war.

The students were all crowded around the stage now, talking loudly back and forth as they speculated what would be happening and how many times Professor O'Malley would find herself at the mercy of the great Harry Potter. Harry found himself blushing a bit as he caught a couple of their conversations, but it was just a bit flattering to know that he was indeed more popular than the disgruntled woman in front of him. Professor O'Malley was now doing certain stretches and warm ups in her corner of the room, away from the eyes of the students, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into.

And as luck would have it, at that the exact moment that Professor O'Malley straightened up and started to begin her lecture to the students, the door banged open once more and a highly excited Draco Malfoy walked in. He was wearing older Potions robes that would allow him to cause a mess without worry of potential cleanup as the spill would vanish on these spelled robes, and his clean blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail with his traditional black ribbon. His wings were hidden with what Harry assumed was the tattoo concealment charm that Draco had revealed all those months ago. His eyes were dancing around the room and when they landed on Harry he was surprised to see Draco's face break into a dazzling smile. Harry was quite certain that he had never seen Draco truly smile before; the sight was breathtaking.

"I did it, Potter!" Draco called as he made his way over to where Harry was standing on the opposite side of the stage. "I finished the potion. It's all done. It took a few months, but it's never been developed by anyone before. Do you know what this means?" Draco's voice had reached an excited, loud quality that O'Malley was looking on with disapproval, annoyed that she had been so fantastically interrupted. "This means that now I can--"

"Hem hem," O'Malley coughed loudly. The entire room went silent as thoughts of a certain other stout Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ran through their heads.

Draco turned around and stared at the woman glaring at him. He appeared unfazed at the glare, but he turned to Harry and asked in a low voice, "Harry…did someone bring in a slightly less unattractive but by no means appealing double of Umbridge to teach here?"

"I don't think so," Harry whispered back, leaning in a bit closer to Draco so O'Malley would stop sending them evil glances as she gave her opening speech to the crowd. "Haven't you seen her before? You're here all the time!"

"I was _working_, Potter," Draco said exasperatedly. "Surely you realize that that means I was in the dungeons up to my eyeballs in potions ingredients and cauldrons blowing up in my face and--"

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted. "Are you telling me, that you had cauldrons blowing up in your face for the past three months?"

Draco looked indignant. "Of course not, Potter! I am a genius at potions, of course I didn't have…alright, yes, there was one time that it blew up, but that's only because I was creating a new potion and these things do happen."

"Sure, Draco, sure," Harry answered a bit gleefully. "I'll be sure to let Neville know that 'these things do happen.'"

"If you are quite finished, Mr. Potter," came O'Malley's bark. Harry turned to see what was going on, as the rest of the room had faded into the background while he talked with Draco. It was funny; that was happening more and more lately. He would be speaking with the blonde, and then nothing else seemed to capture his focus but those clever gray eyes and smirking mouth.

It appeared now that Harry was required to give his demonstration. "With whom will I be dueling?" Harry asked politely, even though he had a fair idea of who it was.

"With me, of course. I am the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," O'Malley said, emphasizing the word teacher, "and the overseer of this dueling club."

Harry nodded his understanding as climbed up onto the platform. It was different than what he had seen before with Professor Lockhart. Instead of being elongated and narrow, this stage was shaped like an octagon, allowing a similar view from all sides of the room.

Now was the only time that Harry felt a bit unsure of himself. Sure, he had dueled countless of wizards and defeated Voldemort, but that had all been done with adrenaline shooting through his system as he desperately tried to stay alive. There was no boundary of a stage; usually rocks and trees and sometimes headstones to hide behind or use to his advantage. This room offered none of that. There were also the rules of engagement for a proper Wizard's Duel, rules that Harry had failed to learn over the years. Once again, he asked himself how he got into these kinds of situations.

Now was not the time to be questioning himself, however, as it appeared that O'Malley had exhausted herself with fancy speeches, and was now ready to begin the duel.

"Call your second, Mr. Potter," O'Malley barked, nodding to a figure in the back to come and stand directly behind her below the stage.

Harry turned around, not knowing who to call. He couldn't call Ginny or any of his other friends as they were still in school and meant to be a part of the audience. He might call on one of the teachers, but that was just awkward. Resigning himself to this, Harry turned toward the back of the audience where Snape was watching with a glare in his eye, when a voice interrupted him.

"I'll be Potter's second," Draco said, stepping forward to stand behind Harry. Harry turned and looked at Draco in surprise, both at having the blonde willingly step forward for him, and also because he wondered why he didn't think of Draco as a suitable second sooner. Harry smiled at Draco for his support, to which Draco merely inclined his head, focusing instead on O'Malley who was whispering with her second, a tall odd-looking fellow with black hair and a long scar that ran down the left side of his face. This man made Harry feel a little uneasy; he made Draco feel like he was going to have some fun.

"The rules of engagement are quite elaborate for a true Wizard's Duel, with many different clauses and addendums that must be adhered to by the various parties for obvious reasons," O'Malley lectured, even though the focus was less on her and more on Harry. "For our purposes today, however, we will be simplifying these rules since most of you are unfamiliar with them. I assure you that we will be going over them in class tomorrow," O'Malley added sternly.

"Well then, Potter," O'Malley turned to face Harry, "Let us begin with the usual rules and no funny business added. First blood or incapacitation for a sustained period signifies the end of the duel, during which we may call our seconds in to battle it out, if you so choose. Now, listen clearly," she turned to face the students once more. "The duel begins with both partners bowing, then they face each other for battle. The wand has a specific grip, observe here," O'Malley demonstrated, "and the duelist generally take turns with their spells. Unless of course in a battle situation, in which you had better be quicker than your opponent if you expect to live."

"Potter!" O'Malley shouted, spinning back to him. "We will begin!"

Harry and O'Malley faced each other, bowed and walked the requisite ten feet in opposite directions, before they both flourished their wands and raised them in defense.

"_Expelliarmus!" _they both shouted at the same time. The two disarming spells ricocheted off each other, one heading back toward O'Malley and making her duck, while the other spun off at a 90 degree angle and smashed into the opposite wall, emitting a shower of red sparks that rained down on the students.

Harry raised his wand again, but did not cast, as he was unsure as to who's turn it was. O'Malley was less obliging, immediately throwing a Tripping Hex Harry's way. Harry dodged it easily, before firing back a Hair Growing Curse, smiling in satisfaction when O'Malley's hair grew down over her eyes with such speed and thickness that she was momentarily blinded. He could hear the students laughing in the background, unable to control their mirth at seeing a standing fur-ball right before them.

O'Malley conjured a pair of silver scissors, which quickly chopped off the large amounts of hair blocking her view. While the scissors continued their work, she sent the same spell that Ron had tried to use on Malfoy in Harry's second year. This one caught Harry by surprise and to his chagrin he was soon spitting out the slugs that Ron had found so disgusting. Now Harry was the one being laughed at, the little first years unable to stop their giggles even for their famed hero. One laugh in particular caught Harry's ear, and he turned to glare at Malfoy, who was nearly doubled up he was laughing so hard.

Malfoy continued laughing even as he motioned for Harry to turn around and pay attention to the duel he was still fighting. Harry gave him one more glare, sending him the message that he would pay for that later. Turning back, Harry found that O'Malley had completely recovered and her hair was as immaculate as McGonagall's usually was.

"_Aguamenti!" _O'Malley shouted, anger burning in her eyes. A powerful jet of water shot from her wand, catching Harry in the face and knocking him off his feet. He landed flat on his back, furious with himself for letting his guard down so easily. He could see that O'Malley wanted to finish him off, so he sent a spell that he had recently remembered and looked up in her direction.

"_Avis! Oppugno!" _

He smiled in satisfaction as the tiny birds that he conjured flew rapidly toward O'Malley and immediately started pecking her exposed flesh. It gave him great pleasure that try as she might, O'Malley could not make the birds stop their attack.

"_Finite Incantatem! Evanesco! Oblittero!" _she shrieked, growing louder with every spell.

"If I may, Professor," Draco said with a smirk, "I do believe that Potter is the winner here."

O'Malley turned her reddened and flustered face toward Draco, before glancing at Harry a long while and finally acquiescing.

"Potter! Get these damn things off of me."

"_Finite Incantatem_," Harry said calmly, waving his wand with the appropriate motion and holding back a broad grin at showing the arrogant witch her place. Her second, the cloaked figure in black, had since disappeared. Before Harry could wonder where the man had gone, Headmistress McGonagall stepped forth.

"Thank you Harry, Professor O'Malley. That was a most…enlightening experience," McGonagall said. "And now for something that I think will be just as exciting."

McGonagall turned toward Harry and Draco, a smile on her face. They turned to look at each other, both suspecting the worst.

* * *

"I can't believe she made us duel!" Harry laughed again. It was early evening and he and Draco had returned to his flat intent on making dinner. Having numerous experiences in the kitchen while living at the Dursleys, Harry was trying to convince Draco that Muggle cooking was just like potion making, with ingredients and measurements and pots boiling over if you leave them unattended. He was currently chopping up some fresh tomatoes and onions while Draco measured out spices and such for their pasta sauce. 

"What did you expect Potter? Six years of us throwing hexes back and forth, and now we had the chance to do it without getting reprimanded! She was probably loving the idea," Draco chuckled.

"You put her up to it, didn't you?" Harry gasped.

"Now Potter, if I had put that woman up to anything, she would have surely replied negatively. But…if I happened to mention on occasion that you enjoyed a little competition now and then, in particular with devilishly handsome and smart blonde Slytherins, there's no harm in that," Draco smirked, taking Harry's tomatoes and tossing them into the pot.

Harry just laughed harder, used to Draco's self-serving wit. "Yeah, I bet you thought you could be beat me, didn't you?"

"Now listen here, Potter," Draco said, turning to face Harry fully. "A draw does not count as a win. You didn't beat me, and maybe I didn't beat you…yet. But sometime in the near future, I will."

"You have the advantage, you can fly or shield yourself with those damn wings!" Harry complained.

"Yes, and you are the all powerful Harry Potter, defeater of Voldemort and savior of the

Wizarding World. I think we're pretty evenly matched, eh?"

When his remark was met by silence, Draco once again turned his full attention on Harry.

"Potter?…Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Is it the onions or is something really wrong?" Draco asked, gesturing the to vegetable Harry was still slowly chopping, hand moving mechanically up and down.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Harry said softly.

"Oh, bugger, here we go again," Draco sighed. "What is it this time, Potter? Embarrassment for all the attention and gratitude? Guilt for not having wiped the guy out sooner and saving a few extra lives? Shame for--"

"I'm no savior! I did what was necessary, and I wish to god I hadn't had to. I was a kid who didn't want any of that, who just wanted to be normal!" Harry exploded.

"Well, tough luck, Potter! You don't get to be normal, just like the rest of us don't get to be normal! We've all had things that we've had to deal with and done things that we've regretted. But you cannot possibly tell me that you regret killing a megalomaniac that was going to take over the entire world and kill anyone who disagreed with him!" Draco shouted, a ripping sound rushing through the air as his wings expanded in his anger and cut through the light shirt he was wearing.

"I don't regret that he's gone I just regret that--fuck!" Harry swore as the knife he was holding slipped and cut his hand instead of the vegetables.

"Potter! Let me see that," Draco said, anger nearly forgotten in his concern. Wrenching Harry's hand from his mouth where he had automatically begun sucking on the wound, Draco closely examined the deep cut across the back of Harry's hand.

"You almost cut through some tendons," he commented, pulling Harry over to the pantry where there were some wizarding medical supplies. "I'll have to put a plaster on here, and it will be fine in a few hours."

Harry nodded his understanding, trying to ignore that even through the pain he could still feel Draco's hot hands holding his own hand, carefully putting the purple paste onto the cut and covering it with cloth that had been soaked in water with dittany petals.

"There," Draco commented, satisfied with his work. He turned to put the supplies away but upon looking up he saw that Harry had already turned and gone back to the food. "Oh no you don't, Potter. We are going to sit and down and figure out what the hell is going on you."

"But the dinner--" Harry protested.

"We can finish later, something tells me this is more important," Draco said firmly.

Grasping Harry by the arm, he pulled him into the living room and sat him down on the couch before falling sitting himself in the armchair. Once they were both comfortable Draco turned expectantly toward Harry, who remained silent and motionless in his seat, staring at the wall and avoiding Draco's gaze.

"Do I need to call Granger and the Weasel?" Draco asked, an eyebrow raised.

"No," Harry said quickly. "They were there, they knew what happened. I don't want them to have to go through it again."

"Go through what again, Potter?"

"The final battle against Voldemort."

Draco was silent for a moment. "Harry, I guess it's time to finally talk about the things we don't want to talk about. And seeing as how you're so chipper about all this, you can go first."

Harry remained stiffened for a bit, before slowly nodding his head. "Alright. I guess it's time."

TBC. Please R/R.


	7. Chapter 6: A Final Confession

-Chapter 6-

October 1, 1998

"After what happened at the end of Sixth year, I was nearly lost. I tried to be strong for everyone, but one of the only people I had really counted on, despite the many disagreements we had once I found out how much was kept from me, was dead. Gone. Vanished right before my eyes. It was the third time I had seen someone die needlessly. Cedric hadn't a warning; he had no idea what was happening until it did. He deserved better. Sirius…he was being Sirius. He was wonderful and impulsive and…and it killed him. And Dumbledore…he died protecting me," Harry's voice lowered down to a whisper, not meeting Draco's eyes.

"What do mean he died protecting you?" Even though Harry could not see them, he could feel Draco's eyes piercing through him, demanding that he explain.

"I was there, that night in the tower. I saw everything. I saw you try to kill him and fail. I saw you hesitate, saw you consider everything that he offered you, and I saw that the reason you were so afraid was not as cowardly and selfish as I had once thought. You didn't see me because I was under an Invisibility Cloak, and Dumbledore had petrified me. I couldn't move; just stand there and watch Snape kill him.

"There's a part of me that still blames myself for what happened to them: Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, everyone else who died because of me. If I hadn't told Cedric to share the win, he would be alive. If I hadn't been stupid and fallen for Voldemort's trick, Sirius wouldn't have gone to the Department of Mysteries and gotten himself killed. And if I hadn't been there that night, Dumbledore wouldn't have protected me first, and then be better able to defend himself, even with all that the potion had done."

"Harry, you can't just--"

"I know it's not really my fault," Harry interrupted. "I know that now, but for a long time all I could think about was not letting everyone down. Not letting another person die on my behalf, when so many others already had. So I pushed everyone away. I broke up with Ginny; I stopped going by the Burrow; I left Hogwarts; I tried to make Ron and Hermione leave, but they were determined to help me. In the end, I think I really did need their support, no matter how many times I yelled at them to leave."

"Where did you go, if you didn't return to Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"I went to find the remaining Horcruxes."

There was a slight pause before, "The i what /i ?"

"The Horcruxes, the pieces of Voldemort's soul," Harry answered.

"The i what /i ?" Draco repeated.

"Voldemort discovered that by committing a horrible, terrible act, he could split his soul in two and leave one piece in another object while retaining the other half in his body. The first time he did this he was sixteen, and he killed his father and his paternal grandparents. He put part of his soul into a diary, a diary that preserved his sixteen year old self and that has only resurfaced recently," Harry explained.

"The diary that my-- that Lucius gave the Weaselette," Draco said, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

"You knew?" Harry asked sharply.

"Not then," Draco protested. "I only found out later, when it was over. I don't even think Lucius really knew what it was; he probably just knew it would ruin the Weasleys' reputation or something. Lucius was a very proud man, Harry."

"Yes. I know," Harry responded before going silent for a few moments. The silence stretched between them as they both thought about a man that they hated, even though one of them was still forced to love him.

"That was one Horcrux down," Harry began.

"Wait a minute, you mean there's more than one? That the Dark Lord split his soul a bunch of times? No wonder he's nuts," Draco commented incredulously.

"Yes, well, I'm sure having your soul ripped apart a few times doesn't exactly lead you down the path of self improvement. Anyhow, that was only one Horcrux. Dumbledore discovered another: a ring that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and that had been passed down through Voldemort's family until he came to own it. That was the second Horcrux, which Dumbledore destroyed before the beginning of Sixth Year," Harry continued.

"Are you telling me that Dumbledore had a ring that belonged to bloody i Salazar Slytherin /i , and he i destroyed /i it!" Draco shouted, leaping off his chair. "He destroyed a priceless artifact that was over a thousand years old and belonged to one of the most important and influential men in Wizarding history and--"

"And that now had a piece of Voldemort's soul in it, and would be required to be destroyed in order to ensure that Voldemort would die? Yes, he did!" Harry shot back. "And it's a good thing he knew enough to destroy it, or Voldemort would still be running around and killing people today! Are you finished?"

Draco stopped sputtering as the realization hit him. He stood very still for a moment, face blank, before he sat himself back in the armchair again and nodded for Harry to continue.

"The third Horcrux was a locket that had also belonged to Slytherin and had been passed down to Voldemort's family. Dumbledore figured out that Voldemort had hid it in a cave that he had once visited as a child, and so him and I went there the night of the attack in Sixth year. That's why Hogwarts was 'defenseless,' because Dumbledore and I were getting the third Horcrux."

"So did you destroy that little piece of history as well?" Draco grumbled.

"No. It wasn't the right locket. Someone else had gotten to it first, and replaced the locket with a false one containing a note that explained what that person had done," Harry said.

"First off, you said this thing contains a piece of Voldemort's soul, right? So it must have been heavily guarded. I can understand Dumbledore getting through, but some nobody? Who bothers to leave a false locket and a note after he gets past all the defenses and steals the real one? It doesn't add up, Potter," Draco complained.

"The defenses were heavy, and required two people, one of which had to be not legally recognized by the Ministry, to break through. I believe this person got a house-elf to help him, and was therefore able to penetrate the defenses, steal the locket, and leave another in its place," Harry theorized.

"And just who was this person?" Draco asked skeptically.

"Regulus Black, Sirius' brother," Harry answered promptly.

"And the house-elf thing?" Draco sputtered.

"The job required two people, but only one magical person could pass through unharmed. When Dumbledore and I went, I didn't count as a magical person because I was not legally recognized by the Ministry as a full-fledged wizard yet. A house-elf is not recognized as anything other than a lowly slave, so it couldn't be recognized as a full magical person in the sense that was required for getting past the defenses. So, Regulus brought along the family house-elf, Kreacher, whom he swore to secrecy. After getting the locket, Regulus brought it back home to Grimmauld Place for safekeeping while he tried to find a way to destroy it. Before he could though, he was killed as a traitor to the Voldemort," Harry explained.

"Yeah, I remember my mother talking about him once or twice. And maybe even Aunt Bella as well. He didn't seem to be that great of a Death Eater, from what I've heard," Draco mused.

"Yeah, well, he died as one. But the point is that once I had figured out who had taken the Horcrux, I could figure out what had happened to it."

"Don't you mean once Granger had figured it out, Potter?" Draco drawled.

"No. I figured out it was Regulus. Though Hermione did realize where the Horcrux was," Harry admitted.

"And…" Draco said leadingly.

"And it turned out that when we had been cleaning Grimmauld Place once, we had been going through some of the family artifacts. One of them was this great big locket that none of us could open, so Sirius just chucked it away in the trash. But Kreacher was there, stealing away what he could and saving them as he muttered about old Mrs. Black. That really was creepy, now that I stop to think about it," Harry paused, before taking up the story again after Draco cleared his throat.

"So we found out that Kreacher had recognized the locket and kept it in secret. It's really a miracle that Regulus had thought to forbid Kreacher from giving it to anyone who supported Voldemort, or else I'm sure Narcissa would have had it years ago. We forced Kreacher to give the locket to us, and then Hermione, Ron and I destroyed."

"Another priceless artifact lost to the cause," Draco cringed.

"That wasn't all. There was also the Hufflepuff cup, Nagini, and the very last Horcrux: Ravenclaw's bronze quill."

"The Dark Lord deemed something that belonged to i Hufflepuff /i worthy enough to carry his soul?" Draco demanded icily.

"Um, yes?" Harry squeaked, alarmed by how upset Draco was over this fact.

"But...but…I understand something of Ravenclaw's, knowledge is power after all, and I can deal with the whole possessing his own snake thing, very Slytherin, but a Hufflepuff cup! It's just too much!" Draco exasperated.

"Draco get a hold of yourself!" Harry shouted. "It's just a damn cup!"

"But not only did you destroy Slytherin's possessions, you deemed a damned cup owned by Hufflepuff as a Horcrux, as containing a piece of the Dark Lord's soul. It's preposterous, Potter! Why in all that is above would the Dark Lord place something as important as his soul into such a lackluster object?" Draco shrieked.

"The Hogwarts Four, Draco! I know you don't like the Hufflepuffs or the Gryffindors and can barely tolerate the Ravenclaws if only for their usefulness, but the Founders were damn powerful, Draco, and any object that belonged to them is equally important! Voldemort understood that," Harry said.

"Fine! At least tell me that you destroyed the hideous thing!" Draco shouted.

"I did! I broke the cup, rusted the quill that was hidden in the Owlery, and slashed that damn snake to shreds! And then I went after Voldemort and cut his heart out and then destroyed _that!_ I had his bloody heart in my hands. The blood--the blood was everywhere and I ripped it apart _with my bare hands._ I fucking destroyed Voldemort just like everyone wanted me to! And in the end I couldn't do it with magic, I had to do it using just myself. _I did it! Me! Are you happy now?"_ Harry screamed, tears streaming down his face that was only inches away from Draco's.

Before he realized it he had collapsed against the other boy, knees buckling underneath him and dragging them both to the floor. Draco was shocked to the core, awkwardly putting his arms around the weeping man crumpled in his lap.

He struggled to come to terms with what he was hearing, of what Harry had been forced to do in order to kill the Dark Lord. It hadn't been just a wave of the wand and a few spoken words; no, it had taken a lot more than anyone could have expected. Harry had to hunt down those Horcruxes and destroy them all. He then had to kill Voldemort without the aid of magic, or else Voldemort could have just come back again and again as he always had done. Harry had been forced to give his blood to the Dark Lord when he was fourteen years old; at the age of seventeen, he had returned the favor and taken the blood back.

Draco awkwardly rubbed circles on Harry's back, trying to stop the sobs that were still wracking the boy's frame. Draco had never been very comfortable with large shows of affection. Lucius had always been cold, demanding and hard to please, and Draco had never asked for his father's love. He understood that love was something Lucius considered as a weakness, because it lead people to think irrationally; to do things for love, instead of for power, self-interest and even the family name.

So young Draco understood that Lucius would never be capable of the kind of love that he read about in fairytales or saw with the mothers and fathers and children in Diagon Alley or other wizarding establishments. He never strived to earn his father's love; he wanted his father's respect and approval instead, and that would replace fatherly love.

Draco had spent almost his entire childhood wanting to hear one simple phrase from Lucius: "I'm proud of you." Even when he had failed the Dark Lord, failed to help his father leave Azkaban, failed to stay in the country and support his father once the Death Eaters had broken out of Azkaban and rejoined the Dark Lord's side. Even though he knew he had failed his father in every way possible, a part of him still hoped that one day his father would look at back at how much his son had accomplished in his name, and maybe speak a kind word or two in his favor.

_"I'm proud of you."_

He never heard it.

* * *

Draco awoke to find himself on the floor with Harry still in his arms. They had shifted in their sleep, but Harry was curled in towards him, face still buried in his neck and steady breath tickling the little hairs there. In truth, Harry was laying more on him than on the ground, using Draco as a pillow in order to avoid the harsh floor.

Draco tried moving, but every time he did Harry would murmur something and cling to him all the harder. He have several attempts at rolling them over, but they came to no good.

"Potter?" Draco tried. "Potter? Harry?"

It was quite frustrating and Harry really was getting very heavy and now his arm was going numb, and there was this weird feeling below his navel and oh god--

Draco realized that being a lustful and hormone driven eighteen year old he couldn't help, but it didn't make matters any easier. Because right then and there, with Harry bloody Potter draped all over him and nuzzling into his neck, Draco Malfoy had a hard on of epic proportions. The morning boner couldn't have just spared him one day, but instead chose this day to force him to endure utter humiliation as the largest erection he had quite possibly ever had was jutting up against Harry's thigh. Draco was quite certain that it would be impossible for Harry not to realize that it was there, but the boy i wouldn't wake up/i

Cursing Dark Lords and tears and blubbering idiots who blamed themselves and the stupidity that must have overcome him when he pulled Harry into his arms, Draco gingerly tried to wiggle his away out from under Harry. The result, however, was that he instead ended up rubbing his erection against the delightfully friction-causing jeans that Harry had been wearing, making him gasp as pleasure flooded through his system.

_This is not happening._ Draco thought._ I am not underneath Harry Potter and trying to get out yet foiled by stupid morning erections! And goddamn you, why can't you just wake…er. Go back to sleep go back to sleep go back to sleep._

At the exact moment that Draco had managed to maybe break free and take care of his problem in the privacy of the bathroom, Harry opened his green eyes, lifted his head, and sleepily stared down at the terrified face beneath him.

"Hallo, Draco," he mumbled, twitching his nose adorably and burrowing his face back down in Draco's neck.

There was a few moments of silence, before--

"What!" Harry yelped, head snapping back up and neck cracking brilliantly as he took in the situation that was facing him. He had his arms around the blonde, one leg thrown in between the other's legs, and his hips pressed very deliberately against the boy beneath him. "What's going on?"

"I'm awake, you're awake, I'm trapped, and you're on top of me. Care to let go now?" Draco asked, voice slightly strained, ever mindful of the painful erection that he was still trying to hide.

"Er…yeah, sure. Sorry about that," Harry stammered, letting his weight drop and bracing his hands against the floor so he could push himself back up. He paused a moment, staring down inches away from Draco's face, who was looking right back up at him.

"Harry?" Draco said softly.

"Yeah?" came the breathy reply.

"Weren't you getting off of my around now?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah," Harry said, pushing himself jerkily off of Draco and picking himself off the ground. He brushed the front of his pants nervously, avoiding eye contact with the blonde as he got up.

"Um..."

"Er…"

"…I'll just be in the bathroom, then," Draco said quickly.

"Yeah, I'm gonna change," Harry answered.

They both moved off quickly in separate directions, not speaking another word. Neither noticed the breathy sighs and quieted gasps that floated through the thin walls of the flat, so anxious they were to cover up their own sounds of pleasure and shame.

TBC. Please R/R.


	8. Chapter 7: A Fight and an Explosion

-December 31, 1998-

The next few months passed quickly for Harry and Draco. Neither was willing to acknowledge what had happened that morning after Harry's final confession, and in truth, they were both unaware of the other's possible…affections. Harry tried to ignore any feelings he may have had, continuing to believe that it was just a fluke that he had become aroused when he felt Draco pressed up against him. Draco was fully aware and embarrassed over his own feelings, but neither attributed it to Harry nor realized that the sentiment had been reciprocated.

On the last day of the year, Harry's flat was in a flurry of activity. Harry had been standing in front of his closet for the better part of an hour, watching in amusement as Draco tossed all of his clothes around the room, screeching that Harry couldn't possibly expect him to work with this kind of material if they were to make a favorable impression tonight.

The Weasleys had invited Harry back to the Burrow for a New Year's Eve party. Harry had been reluctant to go as large crowds had never been a particular favorite of his, but Molly had insisted, requesting that Draco come along as well. She had sounded a bit odd over the firecall when she had insisted he bring Draco along, but Harry supposed that she was just still not used to the Slytherin.

He still hadn't ventured out into proper Wizarding society; the only place he went by himself was Hogwarts, and even then it was only to see Professor Snape or to work more on his potions experiments. Even though he had solved the problem with his wings, Draco apparently had a lot more to work on.

Not the least of which was the mess that had turned Harry's relatively clean room into the after site of a tornado touch down. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and bed spread, there were a few ties hanging off of the bedside lamp, and Harry was quite sure that if he dared to look underneath his bed, he would find a cornucopia of socks just waiting to be organized and put back into their drawers.

One didn't spend ten years of their life in indentured servitude and not pick up some habits about cleanliness and hygiene, and Harry definitely had picked them up. The flat was generally clean, until Hurricane Draco stormed its way through at the end of every day. And while the kitchen and the living room/makeshift guest bedroom were okay for right now, Harry had had enough.

"That's it!" Harry shouted over Draco's complaints about his inability to match his socks properly. "No more sartorial decisions for you! You are going to go into the kitchen and have some coffee while I get dressed _by myself! _Then we will go over to the Weasleys and return to enjoy our last night in this flat, because by tomorrow, I might have to Avada Kedavra myself before I live through another moment of you rummaging through my closet, using all of my bathroom supplies, and not cleaning up your room that happens to serve as an entrance to my flat!"

"But Harry--" Draco began, startled by the outburst.

"OUT!" Harry shrieked, pushing at Draco until he left in a huff, throwing a dress shirt on the floor and slamming the door behind him.

Harry relaxed a bit at the sudden quietness of the room.

And then, because of the paper thin walls, he realized he could hear Draco cursing him in the kitchen as he slammed together kettles and cups to make himself some coffee.

"Bloody Potter…thinks he knows everything…wearing some hideous color of beige…I wouldn't live here any longer if he paid me…fine then…move out tonight…"

Half dressed with only a pair of low slung black pants on his hips, Harry rushed out of his room, hair a mess and bright eyes searching for wherever Draco was. He found him over the stove, stirring some leftover soup from the night before. Harry stopped for a moment, wondering why Draco didn't just cast a warming spell like he usually did, but then propelled himself forward and stopped just a few inches shy of the blonde.

"What do you mean you're moving out tonight?" Harry whispered, teetering slightly as he rocked on his heels to both get closer and draw back from Draco at the same time.

Draco stiffened, not turning around to face him. "I mean exactly what I said, Potter. You obviously don't want me here; in fact you never did. I've worn out my welcome, so I'll just be on my way now."

"But...but…"

"What Potter?" Draco snapped.

"Where will you go? I thought people were looking for you? What about the people who did that to you?" Harry said in a rush, gesturing wildly with his hand toward Draco's back.

"I'll go back to Spain, back to Madrid. It's quieter there, no one knows who I am. They won't find me there," Draco answered quietly after a moment.

"But--but you don't even like Madrid," Harry protested.

His remark was met only with silence, as Draco continued to stir the pot of soup. It was hot enough now that it's rich smell had drifted up to tempt their nostrils, and Harry was distracted for a moment by the soup, and how he and Draco had spent the better part of an afternoon trying to perfect the recipe. They had laughed around the kitchen, tossing unfelt insults back and forth to tease the worries out of each other. They spent a lot of days like that, simply fooling around in the kitchen or around the flat, occasionally taking shopping trips to Diagon Alley or Draco's favorite art museum. Now _that_ was an interesting day, Harry remember, smiling.

And as Harry thought of all the great times that he and Draco had recently shared together, any lingering resentment and prejudice seemed to disappear. Here was a person who had become one of Harry's good friends, and he was driving him out of the house and out of his life. The thought terrified Harry, for some unspeakable reason, and he just knew that he would be devastated if Draco left.

"I…I don't want you to go," Harry whispered, head falling down as his gaze went to his shoes.

Draco stood still for a minute, before slowly turning on the spot and facing Harry.

"What?"

"I don't want you to leave. I…I like you being here with me. It makes the place seem less empty."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "So you just want me to stay because you can't live by yourself," he said flatly.

"No! That's not it! I don't like living by myself, but I wouldn't want to live with just anyone. I want to live with…you," Harry said.

"…Why?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry reluctantly raised his head.

"Why me?" Draco asked again. "Why do you want to live with me?"

Harry stared back at Draco, something flickering in his eyes, before he turned his face away again.

"I don't know…I just…I…," he trailed off.

"Harry," Draco said softly, taking a step forward so they were even more close than before. He reached and lightly touched Harry's bare forearm with his fingertips. "Why?"

Harry shivered slightly at the other man's touch, but he conjured up his courage and raised his eyes to meet Draco's once more. His hand twitched slightly, wanting to reciprocate Draco's touch.

"Because…I think that I'm--" Harry started.

There was a noise from the window above the sink that cut Harry off.

"What was--"

There was a blast that came from the far wall, showering plaster and broken wooden cabinets and ceramic plates upon Harry and Draco. They were both slammed into the opposite wall, which Draco slumped against. Harry dropped to the floor beside him, crunching sickeningly on the broken glass beneath him. Little bits and pieces of the broken glass worked their way into his skin, making him gasp in shocked pain. His left arm was broken, and he was quite sure that the leg full of glass would be quite difficult to move anytime soon. Harry moved hesitantly, trying to feel his way to where Draco was, as his glasses had flown off in the explosion and there was a dense smoke fogging his vision and suffocating his lungs.

"Draco?" Harry coughed, hands searching in the smoke and finding a cold ankle to grasp on to. Harry's panic subsided once he had found the other man, but an even worse feeling spread as Draco did not respond to Harry's touch or voice. "Draco? Draco!"

Harry pulled the other man toward him, wincing as he caught a sight of Draco's bloody head and his already swelling left cheekbone. It was obvious that the impact with the wall had knocked the blonde out. Harry took a couple of breaths, trying to slow his rapidly beating heart. He pulled his wand from his pocket intending to try and wake Draco up, when he noticed that the pool of blood around them was growing larger and larger.

He quickly tried some healing spells on Draco's head, but while the wound closed, the blood still stained the floor. A quick perusal of Draco's body indicated the area around his right hip was bleeding profusely. _Shit_, Harry thought, ripping off Draco's shirt and discovering that the previously healed wound from when they had first found the blonde had mysteriously opened once more.

Just as Harry raised his wand once more, trying in vain to spell the wound closed until he could manage to find some help, voices came out of the dark smoke. Figures rushed forward and Harry felt something knock the back of his head just as someone shouted, "_Expelliarmus!" _Harry's body twisted and flew against the wall once more, before he slumped back down to the floor for the second time in as many minutes, already hazy eyesight darkening to a treacherous black as strong arms grabbed him and Draco and removed them from the room.

* * *

_This bed is ridiculous, I really must get Harry to buy a better mattress, the fool_, Draco thought as he woke up. His entire body ached, though the most prominent areas were his head and right side. _God, it's like sleeping on a bed of rocks._

He shifted his tender body a bit, trying to get more comfortable. He flung his left arm over his face, as he was wont to do when blocking out the sun. It was only then that he realized that one, he couldn't move his arm; two, there was a curious rattling of metal when he had tried; and three, there _was_ no sunlight.

"What the fu--" Draco trailed off as he opened his eyes and realized that he was not staring up at Harry's ceiling, as he had thought, but was instead gazing up at mossy stone. There was a crack near his head that was dripping with murky water and forming a puddle about a foot away from him.

Automatically shying away from the disgusting liquid, Draco discovered another enlightening fact: his wrists were encased in metal cuffs…that were attached to chains…that were attached to the stone floor he was currently lying on.

_Wonderful. Absolutely. Fucking. Brilliant. Where was Harry? He always managed to get out of crazy life or death situations like this. Why wasn't he--oh._

Draco's train of thought derailed extremely quickly after he saw Harry lying on a table on the opposite end of the chamber, strapped to the surface with uncomfortably tight leather straps. A pool of blood was visible underneath his legs, and his left arm was at too awkward an angle to be natural. A bit of wiggling around convinced Draco that his wand was not somewhere around the room, and it was obvious that Harry was in no condition to use his, as Draco's many attempts of waking him up (by repeatedly yelling and cursing Harry's name in the hopes that he might respond) had proved to be futile.

So Draco was forced to be content with lying there on the cold stone floor, dirty water dripping dangerously close to his ear, and Harry lying motionless and looking like death in full view of him, while he remained chained to the floor. Needless to say that these circumstances did not meet Draco's satisfaction, and that he grew very tired of them, very quickly. All of his attempts at escape, however, were looking to be unsuccessful, as he had neither the magic nor the in-human strength required to punch through stone walls. Even the added strength that had come to him with the Veela transformation was not proving useful at the moment, since he could hardly take flight in this entrapped space, and he did not possess the full physical strength of a Veela. Draco also saw that the cut on his right side been opened again, and was at a loss to explain how.

Draco settled down again after another attempt to pull at his chains only left him tired and sore around the wrists. He could see that the chafing would leave scarring if he didn't get to St. Mungo's on time. But then, Draco hadn't been to St. Mungo's or any other Wizarding infirmary since his Hogwarts days. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go back now; too many questions.

His boring contemplation of medical practices within the Wizarding world was cut short as a figure seemed to walk through the stone wall to his left. He nearly started at the cloaked figure's appearance, even though he should have been used to false walls and figures walking through them by now. Almost nineteen years of watching witches and wizards conjure tea pots and chairs out of thin air, but he was still almost surprised as the figure flicked his wand and conjured a comfortable looking high backed chair that he rested himself on.

Once the figure was settled, he just sat there, motionless. Draco thought that he might be watching him, but he couldn't tell, as the hood of his cloak covered all of his features except for his mouth and chin. From what Draco could see, the man sitting before him had a hard chin, a heavy 5 o'clock shadow, and thin lips that were pressed tightly together. A stench that had previously not been present in the dampness of the chamber made itself known to Draco, and he had a great suspicion that his shadowed companion had been engaging in some blood sports, with a couple healthy servings of whiskey on the side. His breath reeked of the woody alcohol, drifting across the few feet between them.

After those few tense moments of silence, with neither Draco nor the figure moving, the other man rose slowly to his feet and came to stand before Draco, wand suddenly appearing in his left hand.

"_Crucio."_

Draco cried out as the dark curse hit him, making him twist and turn and writher on the floor in a pain that reached so deep into his bones that he couldn't tell where it ended and where his body began. And then he saw the wide grin that had broken out on the man's face as soon as he had started to scream.

He clamped his jaw shut, biting through his bottom lip in an attempt to quell his screams. Draco could feel his back twitching, arching off the floor, his wings wanting to spring open as his body screeched for release from the unrelenting torture.

"_Finite Incantatem," _came the deep voice again.

Draco gasped for air, straining to pull oxygen into his lungs as his body collapsed heavily against the stone. His rasps were the only sound in the chamber, but he could swear that he could still hear his own screams, as they had been only moments before, echoing off the stone walls. Draco continued to draw in breaths as the man turned swiftly and walked out of the room, through the same wall that he had entered from.

Draco lay on the floor, every touch from the floor and the metal cuffs adding to his agony. His wrists were bleeding from where he had strained against the chains, and his bruised lip dripped a steady stream of blood down his chin. It dribbled down his neck and flowed into the cracks between the individual stone blocks that made up the floor. He watched it for a while, noting how long it took for the blood to stop flowing and then just coagulate there on the stone.

He managed to turn himself slightly, so that his stomach was on the floor. Letting out a deep breath, Draco let his wings release and expand, wincing at the strained muscles. The expansion helped to ease the internal pain and tension, however, so Draco endured having his face pressed against the hard stone and the hard ridges of the floor digging into his hipbones, so that his wings could relax. The after effects of the Cruciatus Curse had faded into a painful throbbing that echoed across his entire body, and once the pain was more manageable, Draco receded his wings again, just in case his torturer came back and decided he wanted some Veela feathers to add to his collection.

Draco laid still on the floor, his only movement the rise and fall of his lower back and his diaphragm breathed in and out. He could feel his vision narrowing once more, and managed to turn his head to where Harry lay, still motionless. He blinked several times, trying to stay awake, but he couldn't help it. Draco lost consciousness, wondering what horrors he would face the next time he woke.

TBC. Please R/R.


	9. Chapter 8: Everywhere In Chains

-Chapter 8-

Undeterminable Date

Draco woke again to see a pair of familiar green eyes looking at him from across the room.

"Harry?" he murmured, shifting slightly so he could see better. "Are you alright?"

Harry laughed a bit, pulling slightly at his restraints in response. "Oh yeah, I'm great. Absolutely brilliant!" he cackled, words spoken in between his laughs.

"Harry," Draco began slowly, "are you sure you're okay? You're a bit…different than usual."

"It's just so--funny!" Harry bit out. "Voldemort's dead! He's dead! But here I am, in a dungeon with Draco Malfoy. I killed the bastard, and I'm still going to die!"

"Harry, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Draco demanded. "Stop laughing. Stop laughing!"

Harry stopped abruptly, eyes still staring off into the distance. His silence resonated in the room after the hysterical laughter that had once filled it. Draco was almost near tears, and he hadn't cried since the bathroom incident in 6th year. He was trapped here in this dungeon with some madman who had tortured him without ever speaking a word (well, except for the actual curse, of course), and his one hope at getting out, Harry, had just decided to go round the bend! He was going to die, he was sure of it. And the thought terrified him, even more so than when Voldemort himself had demanded that he kill Dumbledore or suffer the consequences. He was going to die, at the age of eighteen, without finding a purpose, with no real friends, without having been in love, without, without--

_Fuck this, I'm going to live! _Draco thought.

"Harry!" Draco snapped. "Where's your wand?"

Harry squirmed around a bit on the table, a couple of giggles escaping, before shrugging.

"I dunno."

_Wonderful. Absolutely. Fucking…_

"Harry, can you do wandless magic?"

"Hmm?" Harry raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Can you do wandless magic?" Draco asked slowly, enunciating every word.

Harry scrunched up his face and tried to scratch his head with his hand, before realizing that it was strapped to the table. He got a vaguely confused look on his face, and immediately started tugging on the leather restraint, trying to bring his hand down.

"Harry?"

"I dunno," Harry replied, still struggling to scratch his head.

Draco lay there for a moment, highly disappointed. Then a thought struck him.

"Well, have you ever _tried?_"

Harry paused in his attempts, thinking for a moment, before he shrugged again and went back to pulling on the restraint. Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. _What the hell was wrong with him? He should be fighting to get out, he should be breaking through the stone walls, he should be--_

A loud sigh drew Draco's attention away from the numerous cracks in the wall, and he turned to find Harry scratching his head contentedly. _Oh sure, he's enjoying himself, why he's-- wait a minute!_

Draco took a closer look and realized that Harry's hand was no longer tied to the table; the strap itself was still buckled and strapped to the table, but Harry's hand wasn't in it.

"Harry! How did you do that?" Draco gasped.

"Do what?" Harry asked, now rubbing his stomach absently.

"Get your hand out of the leather strap!" Draco nearly snapped.

Harry glanced at his hand, then craned his head up to look at where it had once been tied down to the table, before shrugging once more.

"I du--"

"You don't know, I get it!" Draco said, nearly wanting to scream in frustration. Then it occurred to him how Harry must have gotten his hand free. "Harry, do you realize that you just did wandless magic?"

"Oh, really?" Harry asked, not really bothered by the fact. "That's nice."

"Actually, it's a bit more than nice. It's bloody brilliant!" Draco exclaimed, smiling a bit. "Okay, Harry, why don't you just release yourself from the rest of those straps and come over and join me on the floor over here?"

Harry contemplated for a moment, before shaking his head. "No."

"Why not?" Draco nearly cried.

"I'm thirsty."

Draco stared at Harry for a few moments. "And is the table going to give you butterbeer if you stay on it?" he asked sarcastically.

"Maybe," came the answer.

Draco closed his eyes and prayed to whoever the hell was up there to give him patience.

"Harry, if you come over here, I'll give you a butterbeer."

"Really?" Harry asked, his interest peaked.

"Yup. I promise. You get off that table and come over here and get me out of these chains, and we'll leave and I'll buy you a butterbeer," Draco promised beautifully, flashing Harry a winning smile.

"Okay," Harry agreed. A few moments later and he had sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table. He paused a moment, looking curiously at his crooked arm and the glass still poking out of his leg, though he didn't seem to notice the gash on the side of his head that matched the one Draco was also sporting.

"How'd that happen?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Draco admitted. "But why don't you heal it?"

"Okay," Harry said brightly. Another few minutes later, and Harry was fully healed except for the gash that was still on his head, though at least the bleeding had stopped. Harry hopped off the table and promptly went crashing to the ground a few feet from it.

"Harry! Are you alright?" Draco asked quickly.

He heard a muffled "Ow" before Harry raised his head up from the floor.

"Draco?" he asked, confusion and pain written all over his face. "What's going on? Where are we?"

_Thank you_, Draco intoned to whoever had answered his prayer.

"It's alright Harry, just come over here and get me out of these chains, yeah?" he said calmly.

"_Chains! _What the hell happened? We were just in the kitchen and there was an explosion and then…then…." Harry trailed off, unable to remember anything after that.

"Yeah, that's about as much as I remember. Except for a little visitor who came and tortured me for a bit. _You_ managed to sleep through the whole damn thing, somehow," Draco grumbled as Harry made his way over.

"Sorry. I don't remember," Harry apologized, staring down at Draco's chains. "Why are you chained up and I'm not?"

"You were strapped to that table over there, but of course the Boy Who Lived can do wandless magic, so you got free. Then you had your sudden epiphany that we weren't in marshmallow land and here we are," Draco complained. "Now, are you going to let me free or not?"

"I did wandless magic?" Harry whispered.

"Yeah, it was great. I probably would have appreciated it more if I wasn't still chained to the ground or anything, but you know. That can easily be fixed. So, chop to it, Potter. Get me out of here," Draco said, grinning widely. After a few seconds he realized Harry wasn't grinning back.

"What's wrong now?" Draco sighed.

"The last time I did wandless magic was when I-- when I killed--"

"Oh. _Oh! _Well, this is for just as noble a cause--oh shit, sorry," Draco said quickly as Harry cringed at the mention of a noble cause. "Look, Harry, I realize that you probably might need to talk some more about this whole Voldemort thing. Obviously that time a few months ago where you broke down during dinner wasn't enough. But is there any way we could do it some other time? Like, say when some evil cloaked drunk isn't likely to come back at any minute and _I'm not still chained to the bleeding floor?" _

"Oh, right. Sorry," Harry sighed, gathering himself together and concentrating on releasing Draco. There were few tense moments, where Harry had his eyes squeezed shut and his hands resting on the chains, trying to break them.

"Is it working?" Harry asked, eyes still shut.

"No," Draco said flatly.

"Oh," Harry muttered, opening his eyes in disappointment. "I guess I could keep trying?"

"Well, it's not like I'll be going anywhere otherwise," Draco pointed out.

"Right," Harry stated, before screwing his face up in concentration once more.

* * *

"Ron, have you seen Harry lately?" Hermione asked, looking up from her writing.

"Hmm, nope. He and Malfoy were supposed to come over New Year's, but at the last minute they couldn't come, remember? Tomorrow's Friday though, so I'll see Harry for lunch as usual," Ron shrugged, paying more attention to the WWN as the Chudley Cannons were playing the Montrose Magpies.

"Why didn't they come New Year's?" she persisted.

"I dunno. I'll ask Mum, she's the one who talked to them," Ron said, glancing quickly at Hermione before focusing once more on the game. The Snitch had been spotted several times, but had yet to be caught. It was going to be a close game.

They sat in pleasant silence for a few minutes, the only noise in the room coming from Hermione's quill scratching the parchment, and the commentators from the Quidditch match. Hermione stood up from her desk and stretched a bit, before grabbing a book and bringing it over to the fireplace with her. She kneeled down and cast _Incendio_, blinking slightly as the fire roared to life. She grabbed the Floo Powder from the mantle and pinched a bit of the fine powder, tossing it in and calling out "Harry Potter, Hogsmeade!"

"I'm seeing Harry tomorrow, Hermione, did you really need him for something?" Ron questioned.

"Oh, no, I'm looking at some Veela research and I wanted to ask Draco something, since he just finished that Potion a little while ago," Hermione answered, before putting her head through the green flames.

"Three months isn't exactly a 'little' while ago," Ron called at her. Hermione didn't answer him, though, he could hear her shouting something out the other end of the fireplace. It didn't matter though, because the Snitch had been spotted once more, and this could be the break the Cannons needed. A few seconds later and Hermione pulled her head from the fireplace, face streaked with ash, which only served to highlight how pale she'd become.

"What did he say?" Ron asked obliviously, listening hard to the game.

"They weren't there," Hermione said, voice oddly flat and emotionless. Ron had never heard her sound like that before, except for maybe during the war. It made him look up at her, and once he did, the game was forgotten.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"The flat…it was basically destroyed, and…they didn't answer. They weren't there," Hermione repeated, face bloodless, eyes staring at into nothingness.

Ron sprang up from his chair and grabbed his wand from the kitchen table. He waited a few seconds for Hermione to move, but it was obvious that she was too shocked to really do anything. Cursing under his breath, he Disapparated, turning swiftly and disappearing in an instant.

Hermione sat by the fireplace, unable to move, unable to feel, because if she felt, then she would break down. All the cleverness and resourcefulness in the world, all of the experience in the war, and yet for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to get up. So she stared at the spot where Ron had been sitting, only moments before, listening to his favorite team try and win their game. She sat in silence, and was only mildly surprised when a roar erupted, and she heard a commentator say, "And the Cannons have won! He's caught the Snitch! He's caught the Snitch!"

* * *

"How about that time?"

"No."

A few moments of silence.

"Now?"

"No."

A few more moments of silence.

"Now?"

"No! If it worked, I would get _up_, Potter!" Draco nearly shouted.

"Well, I'm sorry," Harry shot back. "This is bloody hard, considering I don't know what I'm doing!"

"You were doing fine half an hour ago! What the hell happened in between now and then?"

"I don't know, I wasn't on that blasted table?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Wait! Maybe that's it! Harry, get back on the table!"

"…What?"

"I said to get back on the table, you were doing wandless magic fine back there," Draco said.

"Yeah, but according to you, I was also halfway to the moon," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, Potter, and the second you were off the table, you were sane once more. But, you also couldn't do the wandless magic anymore because you started panicking. Wandless magic is tied up with your emotions. So, even though you were a five year old twit, you could do the magic! So get you ass back on that table and spell me free!" Draco said excitedly.

Harry stared at Draco for a moment. "You do realize that the table is probably spelled with some dark form of the Cheering Charm, right? And that by making me go back onto it, you're going to make me go all crazy again, right?"

"Yes, Harry, we've been through all that," Draco waved his hand dismissively, only wincing slightly as the motion made the chains pull on his raw wrists. "It'll be fine. You'll go happy, you'll set me free, I'll drag you off the table. Perfect plan. Now hurry up, we don't really have that much time."

"How do you know how much time we have?" Harry asked as he walked toward the table.

"Because while you were in la la land some psychopath came in and tortured me, and I don't know when he'll be back. So in my book, we don't have a lot of time," Draco snapped.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then he tripped over a raised stone block on the floor and fell onto the table, landing flat on his face. He raised himself up and looked at Draco, wearing a goofy grin on his face.

"Draco what are you doing over there?" he called gleefully. "You don't look so good!"

"Yes, Harry, it's absolutely horrible, isn't it?" Draco said soothingly. "Why don't you let me go so I don't have to be down here anymore?"

"Okay!" Harry agreed, squinting his eyes shut for a moment, opening them again as the sound of metal clanged on the stone floor.

Draco was free. He tried rubbing his wrists a bit, but the skin was rubbed raw and there wasn't much he could do. He still had that cut down his side, as well as the gash he had taken to the head.

"Harry, would you mind healing me?" Draco called, trying not to laugh as Harry tried to catch an imaginary flying object while still maintaining his balance on the table.

"Sure," he replied, laughing joyfully as he seemed to have caught whatever he was after.

Once Draco's wrists and side were healed, he got up carefully from the ground. He was still sore from the bout of Cruciatus, as it was very difficult to help the effects of the Unforgivable. He made his way to where Harry was swinging his legs over the side of the table and reached out an arm.

"Take my hand, Harry," Draco said.

Harry smiled at him and tightly grasped his hand. Draco pulled hard, and Harry came off of the table. It seemed that Draco had been a bit overenthusiastic, however, as Harry came rushing toward him and they both ended up colliding with the floor, Harry sprawled on top of Draco.

Draco moaned at the sudden impact with hard stone. His entire body was aching, and while Harry was not a particularly large fellow, the added weight was not doing wonders for his recovery. Shaking his head a bit so that he could see clearly, he was startled to find himself in a position that was familiarly unwelcome: Harry Potter, coming out of a groggy state, and draped all over him.

"Harry?"

"Hmm," Harry answered from somewhere around his neck.

Draco tried to ignore how nice the pattern of Harry's warm breath was, and focused on the problem at hand.

"You're on top of me."

"Oh." The warm breath hitched slightly. "I guess I better get up then."

"Yeah. I guess so."

A few minutes passed, and Harry had made no move to get off of Draco, and Draco hadn't tried to get him off either. They just continued to lie there, breathing in and out slowly, barely aware of anything else but the comfort they were finding in each other. In the cold dimness of the stone chamber, they had found a bit of warmth, and they were taking all that they could get.

Harry lifted his head from Draco's neck and stared down into the other boy's eyes. They looked back at him, a question in their mercury depths, one that Harry didn't know if he held the answer to. His gaze darted down to Draco's open mouth that was slowly exhaling a deep breath, before rising back up to meet his eyes once more.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked hoarsely.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"Are you still feeling like you were when you were on the table?"

"Yes," Harry answered softly, "and no. I feel warm and…"

Harry was interrupted as Draco raised his head up an inch and brushed his lips lightly against Harry's. It was barely a touch of skin, could hardly be considered a kiss, but it was a large enough gesture that after he realized he had done it, Draco lowered his head back to the floor and searched Harry's eyes for some kind of sign. Harry just gazed back down at him, and Draco started panicking slightly.

_Shit_, he thought. "I'm sorry--" he started, but was cut off himself as Harry lowered his head and brought their mouths together again in a hesitant kiss. Draco was stunned for a moment, feeling exactly as Harry had felt only seconds before, but then he realized that Harry Potter was kissing him, and he had better start reciprocating.

He pressed his lips harder against Harry's, enjoying himself as the kiss grew more passionate. Harry opened his mouth a bit, and Draco took the opportunity to taste the other boy, tongue plundering his mouth as he raised his hand to cradle Harry's head and pull him closer. Harry moaned against him, biting his lower lip and then licking the pain away as he followed Draco's tongue back into his mouth. The kiss continued, Harry straddling Draco purposely now, hips pressing against hips and tongues still colliding in an ardent dance until they pulled away, gasping.

They both stared at each other, filled with questions and desire, not knowing which one was more important. The only sound in the room was their slightly heavy breathing, and even that was nearly blocked out as they only sensed each other. Draco still had his hand around the back of Harry's neck, fingers unconsciously rubbing a pattern into his scalp.

"Harry--," Draco started.

He stopped as he noticed something out of his peripheral vision. Turning his head slightly, he saw a now familiar figure standing in the corner, wand in hand, and a maniacal smile under that hooded cloak.

"Fuck," Draco said decidedly.


	10. Chapter 9: Pomme de Sang

Author's Notes: I realize there have been several cliffhangers recently. I just want to say that while I feel terribly about it, it's just where I naturally stop writing. My muse runs out, not wanting to return until my next power session. So, please forgive them. A good thing that has come of them: I feel guilty, so I try and write more. Thus, an update after only 4 days. I'm so proud of myself. Though, this does not guarantee a speedy chapter 10. ;) On another note, the date is still undeterminable, even though there are sections with other characters, because DZ is written mostlyfrom Harry's (and sometimes Draco's) POV; since they don't know the date, neither will you. Thanks for reading, enjoy, and please review!

And as usual: Disclaimer: The characters and HP world are not mine, they belong to J.K. Rowling and various publishers. I only own the plot and a few side characters.

* * *

-Chapter 9-

Undeterminable Date

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at the destruction around him, shaking his head as he took in the broken glass, wooden splinters, blasted furniture and the large whole in the north wall of the kitchen. It was a sheer miracle that the stove hadn't caught on fire and burned the whole building down. He raised his wand and cast several standard identification spells, frowning when he couldn't get a reading.

"These people were smart," he said to Ron, who was pacing around the room, finding new things to agonize over. "The only magical signatures I can detect are Harry's and Malfoy's. It's very difficult to cover up magical signatures."

"Death Eaters mastered that during the war, didn't they?" Ron asked.

"So did several rogue wizards," Shacklebolt reminded him, scratching his chin. "And some of them are still running around as we speak."

"Do you think one of them may have done this?"

"Hard to say. It's a difficult thing to do, to be sure, but anyone can manage it with enough study," Shacklebolt replied.

"And who were they after? Harry, Draco, or both?" Ron puzzled, staring at a broken picture frame that held a wizarding photo of Harry and Draco the day after Harry's birthday. Harry was smiling embarrassingly at the camera, and Draco was standing there brooding over something, wings expanded and moving slightly. Every few moments Draco would look over at Harry, smirk just a little, and then shove Harry's shoulder, making him stumble a few feet. Then they would both burst into laughter before resuming their previous positions.

"I don't know," Shacklebolt answered heavily. "I just don't know."

* * *

Harry followed Draco's white blonde hair, trying not to stumble along in the darkness as their captor lead them through the maze of dungeons, magical bonds keeping them from escaping. He was so tempted to take the blonde's hand, to reassure himself that he was not alone in this, but he wasn't so sure. Maybe the kiss meant nothing; just an attempt to find some comfort in a nearly fatal situation. Maybe Draco was just trying to calm him down, and didn't want him to panic again. Maybe Draco didn't care about him at all, and he was just being a stupid, immature child who wanted something that he couldn't have. Maybe--

Harry tripped over a jagged piece of rock that jutted up from the floor. He flinched and tried to brace himself for headfirst contact with the stone floor, but suddenly strong arms were around him and he was staring into Draco's concerned eyes.

"Okay?" he whispered, steadying Harry and brushing dark hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah," Harry breathed. Okay, so maybe he had overreacted, and Draco felt something after all. Seeing Draco smile at him like; he had never seen that look on Draco's face. It was always a smirk or a malicious chuckle or even a mischievous grin. Not the concern and caring that suddenly seemed to emanating from that hesitant smile.

Draco's face suddenly paled, as the magic that had kept them following went into effect, and he was dragged twenty feet back to their captor, who smiled at the discomfort Draco felt by being yanked shirtless across the hard stone. _Why does everything happen to me? _Draco wondered. But then he looked up into Harry's concerned face, and for some reason he couldn't wish his pain on someone else, because that someone else would likely end up being Harry.

Harry, who was now grasping his hand and helping him get to his feet, mirroring what he had just done only moments before. They both stood quickly and followed their captor, not wanting to be dragged along another time. It escaped neither one's notice that Harry did not relinquish his hold on Draco's hand, nor that Draco made no move to remove himself from Harry's tight grasp, but instead was tightly gripping his fingers in return. They continued on in silence, walking in the darkness, not knowing what was to come, nor what lay behind.

After many more minutes of silent walking, they reached a dead end. Their captor reached out a finger and brushed it across the stone, and Harry was gently reminded of his eleventh birthday and a certain trip to Gringotts as he watched the stone swirl and turn into a large wooden door. The door was carved, with a border of leaves and flowers that twisted around until they reached the center and wrapped around a long blade, a sword that had rose thorns wrapped around it's hilt.

"Veritas," came the voice, and the door swung open, revealing a brightly lit chamber that Draco and Harry were unceremoniously shoved into, the door slamming shut behind them.

They both stumbled over the threshold and landed face first on the floor, noses sinking into thick red carpeting. Harry raised his head up and saw that unlike the room they had previously been in, this one was lavishly furnished with velvet and leather furniture, heavy draperies covering the walls. Deep redwood and polished marble accented all objects, and the carpet itself begged for bare feet to sink into it. The walls were lined with tapestries, except for the far left, where a large bookshelf that ran from ceiling to floor contained what must have been dozens of priceless, antique books. There was a large table in the center of the room, covered with vast amounts of food. Exotic fruits and steaming dishes tempted the two prisoners as they gazed around at the unexpected splendor before them.

Harry stared ravenously at the piled food, stomach growling and fingers twitching as he fought back the urge to simply lunge and devour as much food as he was able. He couldn't remember the last time he ate, and who knew how long it had been since then. It wasn't as if someone had kindly dropped by to give them meals and tell them the hour. The only other thought racing through his mind was how close Draco was, and how he could feel the heat radiating off of the other man's body. Their hands had broken apart when they had fallen, but they had landed side by side, with Harry's left leg crossed over Draco's right, and even in such dire circumstances, that heat couldn't be ignored.

Trying his best to do just that, Harry lifted himself off the floor and then helped Draco do the same. As Draco pulled a face and started brushing dirt off of his once immaculate clothing, Harry walked toward the table of food, unable to stop himself from quenching his hunger. He reached for an apple, bright red and perfect. He turned it slowly, examining it in the harsh light, before raising it to his lips. Just before he could sink his teeth into its red skin, Draco's pale hand reached out and grabbed his wrist roughly.

"What are you doing?" Draco nearly growled.

"Um, eating?" Harry answered, confused.

"Potter, do you know who put this food out here?" Draco demanded.

"…No," Harry responded.

"Someone who wanted us to eat it."

"…Oh."

"Exactly. And do you remember where we are?" Draco continued.

"…Locked somewhere, probably underground, where no one can find us, and we've already experienced some form of torture," Harry said reluctantly.

"So now that we've got that straight, please explain to me, Harry, why you're about to eat something that our captors have put out for us, without even giving a thought as to whether it has been hexed or poisoned?" Draco finished.

Harry sighed. "Because I was hungry."

Draco loosened his grip on Harry's wrist and nodded in satisfaction as he placed the apple back onto the table.

"I know, me too," he murmured. "But we don't know what we're dealing with here. And if what happened last spring has taught me anything, it's that you need to be sure of who and what is going on before you do anything rash."

Harry nodded his head silently, listening and accepting what Draco had to say. Though, what he did say brought up something that Harry had never tried to bring up again since his birthday._ I guess there's no time like the present_, he thought, before plunging right in.

"Draco?" he said hesitantly, aware that Draco's thumb was now rubbing soft circles on the inside of his wrist.

Draco himself was looking around the room, examining nooks and crannies and maybe a possible way to escape. He seemed to be unconscious of what his hands were doing, as he simply turned on the spot, carefully analyzing everything he could.

"Yes, Harry?" he answered distractedly.

"I know this is a horrible time, but I just really need to ask…what happened to you last spring?"

Draco's entire body stiffened, his thumb ceasing to move and his grip tight on Harry's wrist. He turned back to look at the dark haired man, at the face that was open with honesty and a curiosity that came from concern, not from selfishness.

"I mean," Harry started tentatively as Draco just looked at him in silence, a blank expression on his face, "I know you said that you would tell me when you were ready, but that was last July. And I don't exactly know what we're dealing with here, but…but maybe it's the same people?"

Draco still said nothing.

"And maybe, they want the same thing they did last time?" Harry continued.

"Why Harry, you exceed my expectations," a cold voice said.

Harry and Draco both spun around to see a woman standing in the entrance they had come through, shadows blocking her face. She stepped forward, allowing them to see her. She was tall, almost as tall as Draco, and had flowing red hair that tumbled down her back and grazed her hips as she moved toward them. Her skin was pale, flawless, and her lithe body was encased in a long velvet dress, black as night and sinuously following her every curve. She wore heavy eye make up and her lips were painted a deep red, but as those blue eyes flashed dangerously, Harry felt as if he knew her from somewhere.

"Hello, Draco. I've been waiting for you," she smiled wickedly.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't trace them?" Hermione asked, voice dangerously low, barely audible above the shifting papers and quiet conversations being carried on in the Auror Department.

Ron winced in anticipation and sympathy. It was never a good sign when Hermione became quiet. After her initial shock concerning the situation, Hermione had gone along nonstop through every part of the investigation following Harry and Draco's disappearance. Ron himself was simply trying to do all he could to help, as his shouting matches with the rest of the Aurors hadn't really had much of an effect. He still didn't like Draco, but Harry was family, and if finding one meant finding the other, then, okay. He would just have to be okay with that.

The newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stuttered a bit in reply to Hermione's…unconventional address. Mad Eye Moody had turned down the offer of Head at the end of the war, claiming he needed some goddamn peace and quiet after two bleeding wars; the new Minister was actually quite relieved, as he had only offered him the position since Moody had been the only senior officer left, even though he was retired. Taking up the position, therefore, was the only other person besides Shacklebolt who had senior standing, and had actually taken Scrimgeour's place as Head of the Auror Office when he had become Minister: Gawain Robards.

Robards was a small, thin man, with light brown hair that was slightly balding. He wore large horn-rimmed glasses that reminded Ron of Percy and had somewhat of a stutter. How he had become the Head of Magical Law Enforcement was anybody's guess, but Ron was certainly not impressed. The man was practically quaking under Hermione's gaze, which, granted, Ron had also done, but this man had to be twice their age, and was an Auror for Merlin's sake.

"There--there was no ev--evidence left in the flat," Robards managed. "No App--apparition traces, no footprints, no fi--fi--fingerprints, no hair, no fibers, no other identi--identifying marks, no--nothing. It was like they had ne--never been there at all!"

"Well, they obviously were. Someone trashed that flat, someone took them away, and someone made them bleed. Tell me you at least noticed the drops of blood on the floor, particularly around the area with broken glass?" Hermione demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Er…er…" Robards stalled.

"Well, whenever you do figure it out, or decide to condescend to find only one of the most important wizards in England today--" Hermione started.

"--You be sure and let us know, alright? Good. We'll just be going then," Ron interrupted, trying to save the poor man from suffering even more of Hermione's wrath.

Hermione just glared at Robards, before spinning on her feet and marching out of the Auror Offices. Several people stared at her, wondering who had told off their superior so effectively. Ron followed several feet behind her, hands in his front pockets and whistling in between smiles as he remembered Hermione's "mama-bear" tendencies when it came to protecting "her boys."

* * *

"What?" Draco managed, speechless for perhaps once in his life. He stared at the woman before him. Did he know her from somewhere?

"Draco, we both know that eloquence is a part of your nature. Please don't lose that quality on my account," she said, before walking past them and sitting in a large ornately carved wooden chair facing them, lined with a deep velvet as red as her lips, which were still smiling at them. Harry wasn't quite sure what the smile implied, but it made him rather nervous.

"Sit, eat," she bid them, conjuring chairs behind them with a wave of her hand. Harry felt a slight push from the air above him, forcing him down into the chair; at Draco's grunt he knew that the same had happened to the blonde.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, ignoring the food.

"You may call me Guinevere," she said. Silence passed for a few moments, with neither of them moving. "I pray you, eat. You must be hungry."

"Not really," Harry denied, mind racing at her feat of wandless magic. The only other person he had seen conjure chairs like that had been Dumbledore…and he had been a very, very powerful wizard. Harry wondered how much power this woman possessed.

"Don't lie," she intoned, voice as hard as steel. "You may say whatever you wish in this chamber, but the telling of falsehoods is not permitted." Her face remained hard for a moment, taking away from her beauty, before she relaxed again and smiled. "Now please, eat. You must be famished, you have been here for several days."

Draco inclined his head, and reached over to pick up the same apple he had made Harry put down only minutes before. Harry's eyes widened in recognition, and he raised his arm to stop Draco, but not quick enough; Draco's teeth sunk into the fruit and he took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Harry stared at him in surprise.

"Draco?" he asked, confused.

Draco turned to look at Harry, but Harry could tell something was wrong. His grey eyes were glazed over, and he was paler than normal. His face was expressionless, but while Draco was known for his cold mask, this was different; it seemed as if there was nothing going on underneath.

Harry reached his hand up, ghosting it over Draco's cheek, staring as the blonde did not even react to his touch. Something was very, very wrong.

"Did you know, Harry, that Veela are extremely powerful magical creatures?" Guinevere said casually, taking his attention away from Draco.

"Yes," Harry answered, turning to look at her. She was sitting almost regally in her chair, scarlet hair pooled around her, hands clasped together in her lap. She was the picture of perfection, and yet, there was still something about her that bothered him.

"They are so powerful, in fact, that they can act as a conduit of power, acting as a neutral party in a power exchange," she continued, conjuring up a glass of red wine and sipping it slowly, hands delicately holding the crystal.

Harry didn't speak, letting her continue uninterrupted, though his eyes darted once to Draco, who was sitting there complacently, before he focused on her again.

"Which brings us as to why Draco is here today…and to where he was last spring as well," Guinevere stated, taking another sip of her wine.

Harry's jaw dropped. "What?"

Guinevere smiled. "Didn't he tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Harry asked slowly.

"That Draco spent two lovely months as my prisoner," she said.

Harry couldn't move, only stare at her as she finally revealed what he had been wanting to know for months.

"Draco came back from Spain a very confused and sheltered young man. Yes, he had lived alone in a foreign country, with no friends, no family, and no Malfoy connections; but he was still ignorant of many forms of magic…and of who to trust," she said, gazing at Draco lovingly. "It was rumored that the Malfoy family had taken up with Veela somewhere in there line. And once his trait manifested, it was simply a matter of time before he would grow into his full power. It was so easy to get him here, with the promise of information on his Veela status. Something to help him with his changes."

Draco flinched slightly, eyes clearing for a moment. Harry could see that his back was twitching, right where his wings normally sprang from, but then the moment passed, and he remained passive once more. _Come on, Draco. Wake up! _Harry glanced at Guinevere before throwing caution to the wind and just doing what he wanted.

"Draco?" he asked. Harry turned in his seat to fully face Draco and grabbed his hand, threading their fingers. He tried to not to react as he felt Draco's unresponsive palm just lay in his. "Draco, will you look at me please?"

Draco turned slightly, but barely enough to put Harry into his vision.

"What's wrong? Draco, tell me what's wrong?" Harry cried.

Draco sat there, staring straight ahead at a tapestry on the wall. Harry turned to see what had him so entranced. The tapestry was old, maybe older than the chamber itself, and was woven with brilliant colors and threads, except for a part that was missing. In the center of the piece was a dragon, bowing down to a figure in black with hands stained red, blue eyes shining from beneath their cloak. The blood came from the dragon, who was sporting a gash on it's right side. It was unclear what was behind the figure, as someone had burned that section of the tapestry off. It still remained beautiful, though a mystery.

Harry looked from the tapestry to Draco, and then to Guinevere, who was smiling at him, brilliant blue eyes flashing.

"Have you figured it out then, my dear?"

"It was you," Harry croaked, his grip on Draco's hand like iron, every muscle in his body stiff with fear and horror. "You were the one who did that to him, who whipped and cut him and made him bleed. You're the one who gave him--"

"Yes, well, symbols are very important," she replied indifferently. "Had to make sure the ritual was completed correctly, after all." She frowned slightly. "But then of course, he managed to escape and come to you. And you were untouchable, for the time being."

"But--but why?" Harry asked.

Guinevere looked at him as if she were insulted. "Why, for power, of course. Have you not listened to a single word that I've said? Veela are very powerful magical beings; with Draco, I could have stripped him of his magic, of his power, and all that would remain would be the Veela, which would have to be sacrificed for the transfer to be complete."

"You were going to--you were going to kill him?" Harry demanded.

"Yes," she replied simply.

"For power?"

"Yes."

"But, he's not even a full Veela!"

"No. But he is a powerful wizard in his own right; he's a Malfoy. Those fools who think that blood means nothing have never seen true power. They let Mudbloods roam their streets, enter their schools, live in their neighborhoods. It's disgusting, how they've let purity and honor decline in favor of imagined ideals of equality and harmony," she ranted. "And he was in the tapestry, in the prophecy, as was ordained hundreds of years ago. His death would ensure my power, my supremacy; and with that power I could cure the world."

"You…you're a monster," Harry whispered to himself. This woman was clearly insane. Another Dark Lord, another Voldemort.

"But he managed to escape, which only served to prove how powerful he really was. Once he appeared at Hogwarts, however, I knew the solution was simple. All I had to do was find out where he was staying, reconfigure the wards, and then voila! I would have him," she smiled.

"Hogwarts? How--how did you get into Hogwarts?" Harry asked, mystified.

"Oh my, Harry. Fallen short again I see. Don't tell me you still haven't recognized me?" she laughed at Harry's confused expression.

"Very well, then. Spoil all my fun," Guinevere chided gently.

She stood up slowly from the chair, body held straight, a look of concentration on her pretty face, which began to morph. Her long red hair grew slightly shorter and turned brown. She shrank to a smaller stature, and filled out more around the waist and hips. Her pretty features grew plain, the cheekbones softening, the lips losing their fullness, the jaw becoming a bit stronger. The aura of power that had seemed to surround her shifted, letting more of her strength show through. But her eyes, her eyes were the same. A brilliant blue that flashed dangerously at Harry, as he suddenly recognized where he had seen those blue eyes before, partially hidden behind a pair of innocuous glasses.

Harry stared in astonishment. "Professor O'Malley? Gwen O'Malley?"

She just stared back at him, blue eyes blazing, a smile on her lips.

"Hello, Mr. Potter."

TBC. Please R/R.


	11. Chapter 10: Parchment and Kisses

Author's Notes: la la la. This is me updating with a fever. Tee hee hee. When you've got nothing better to do than sit down and right cause you've been in bed for four days, you will see the reasoning, I promise! Anyways, I apologize because this should have been up sooner (read: 4 days ago), but alas, my delusional self thought it needed something extra toward the end (so I added another 1,000 words. gah.). So, here is Chapter 10, please enjoy, please review, and please forgive me if next chapter takes a little longer, because missing college classesshitload of work to do for the rest of term. Enough, babbling, enjoy!

* * *

-Chapter 10-

Undeterminable Date

Harry's eyes snapped open. He had been confined to this chamber for weeks, if his sleeping pattern was anything to go by, and his pale face and tired eyes showed it. Food would appear, and there was an incalculable number of books that he could read, but Harry barely ate, barely managed to sleep. All he did all day long was pace around the room, wearing the thick carpet down with his bare feet, staring at that damnable door that would not open, no matter how hard he bid it to.

He swung his legs off of the couch he had been laying on and walked over to the table in the center of the room, where a literal feast of breakfast foods was laid out for him. He ignored them all, just reaching across and snatching an apple from the tray of fruit almost hidden by an enormous stack of pancakes, dripping with butter and syrup. He took a rough bite out of it, swiping the juice off of his chin with his bare wrist.

Clean clothes appeared on the desk for him, but he ignored them, just as he ignored everything else in the room except for the door, the tapestry, and a bit of food now and then. He had never changed out of those pants he had been wearing on New Year's Eve, and now he had simply grown accustomed to not wearing a shirt. Besides, he would not take more than what was necessary from this woman, and that included more comfortable clothing.

He hadn't seen Draco since that day…night…whenever it had been. Guinevere, or Gwen O'Malley as she had called herself before, had taken him from the room, forcing Harry to remain seated in that god forsaken chair until the door had swung completely shut, effectively trapping him in the chamber. He still couldn't understand why Draco followed her, why he had eaten the apple, why he had just sat there and drifted off into space while staring at that damned tapestry, not even acknowledging what was going on.

Oh yes, the tapestry. Harry watched it almost as much as he watched the door. He must have spent hours on end gazing at the thing, trying to figure out its secrets, to discover the piece of the puzzle that had been burned away. Why had Draco been staring at it? There must have been a reason, there must have.

Harry tossed his finished apple core over his head, knowing that it would be gone by the time he turned around. This room was extremely magical, but not in a way that could actually help him. His wand was still missing, and he had attempted to do wandless magic again, but the most he got out of his trials were little poofs of blue smoke every now and then, and quite frankly, that wasn't very encouraging.

Harry walked over to the bookshelf and selected another worn cover from its grasp. This one was covered in leather and was held together only by several pieces of string. Harry gingerly set it on a desk before settling down to read it, eyes glancing up from the handwritten pages to check on the door every once in a while. He handled the pages carefully, not wanting to tear the delicate parchment, but he couldn't help but sigh as he looked at more and more illegible scrawls that led him nowhere.

He was trying to find a way to escape, to help Draco and to kill that wretched bitch, but nothing was coming to mind, and he didn't know how long he had. Every day that he spent in here was another day that Draco was in danger from that madwoman, another day that he could die. And for reasons beyond what Harry could explain, he couldn't let Draco die, he just couldn't.

So he flipped through book after book, page after agonizing page, trying to find a solution, trying to find an answer. Though what kind of a mastermind criminal would this Guinevere be, if she just left the remedy laying around for Harry to find? One that had underestimated him, Harry told himself as he reached the end of the book. One that underestimated him.

Harry got up from the desk and walked back over, frustrated as yet another book yielded no results. He shoved it roughly back into the spot he had found it and yanked out the next couple books. Harry turned swiftly, not noticing as the book he had just replaced fell to the ground from his rough handling, and the inside cover started to peel back.

* * *

Molly Weasley stirred the pot of tomato soup she was making, adding in a few spices and smiling at the wonderful aroma that was rising from the stove. Her expression sobered as she glanced over at Hermione and her dear Ronald discussing things over the table. Ron and Hermione were at their wit's end; they had been searching for weeks, getting help from the Auror Department, even calling in old members of the Order of the Phoenix to try and find that poor boy, but nothing worked. He and Malfoy were gone, and no one had been able to figure out how they had disappeared.

Mrs. Weasley herself hadn't gotten involved in the investigation; her initial response had been so strong after hearing of Harry's disappearance, that the rest of the family decided that she should just stay put at the Burrow instead of going out and looking for the boys. That way, at least, if they managed to come back someone would be there to help them.

The Daily Prophet had already gotten word of their disappearance, despite everyone's best attempts to keep things under wraps. There were rumors circulating around the Wizarding world; rumors that Malfoy had lived up to his Death Eater reputation and killed Harry, that they had gotten into a duel and blasted themselves to pieces, that Malfoy had bewitched Harry and dragged him off to some island in the Bermudas. The majority of the population hadn't even known that Malfoy had returned, and many were terrified that other suspected Death Eaters would reappear as well.

Mrs. Weasley did her best to try and disperse the rumors, letting everyone know that they weren't true. No. Malfoy was no angel, but he was a polite young man, very smart. No. Harry was as capable as ever, he couldn't have possibly lost a duel to Malfoy. In fact, they were friends, so there couldn't have been a duel to begin with. And goodness sake no! They had not secretly eloped in some ridiculous affair and fled to Switzerland to live a life of sin. Poor child, Harry wasn't even gay; what a thing to say! What utter rot!

The matriarch of the Weasley family finished her soup and ladled some out for Ron and Hermione, bringing it over to them with a large loaf of freshly baked bread. They exclaimed their thanks and dived, murmuring their compliments as the hot soup ran down their throats and settled warmly in their stomachs.

"This is wonderful, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said.

"Yeah, great Mum," Ron managed around his mouthful of bread.

Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly at them both, before getting herself some soup and joining them at the table. They ate together in companionable silence, Mrs. Weasley looking randomly at some of the pieces of parchment they had laying around. A piece on the far end caught her eye; it was an Auror report written up by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and it had Ron's statement on it.

_**Witness Statement**_

_**Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt**: When was the last time you saw the missing persons Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?_

_**Ronald Weasley**: Harry and Malfoy were supposed to come to a New Year's Eve Party at my house, but they never showed up. I was a bit worried, but I knew my Mum had talked to them earlier, and when I asked her, she said that they had told her that something had come up and they couldn't make it. _

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: So, you never heard from them that night?_

_**R. Weasley**: Nope._

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: When was the next time you tried to contact them?_

_**R. Weasley**: A couple days later. Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor guys and I try and get together once a week to catch up, stay in touch, you know the drill. We meet up every Friday at the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron, wherever, and just have lunch and a good time. I was expecting to see Harry then, but Hermione--_

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: Please state her full name for the record. _

_**R. Weasley**: Hermione Granger, my girlfriend and Harry's other best friend back from our years at Hogwarts. She wanted to ask Malfoy about some potion he had developed to manage his Veela problem--_

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: Veela problem?_

_**R. Weasley**: Something weird with You-Know-Who and the Cruciatus Curse and some remaining Veela genes in Malfoy's blood. I still don't really get what happened, you should probably talk to Hermione about that, but the long and the short of it is that Malfoy sprouted some wings. He developed a potion a couple months ago to counteract them, so he wouldn't have them fully expanded all the time. Hermione was doing some research, so she wanted to ask him about it. She fire called the flat, but they were gone. We've been looking for them ever since. _

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: And you have no idea where they are, or how to contact them at this point?_

_**R. Weasley**: No._

_**Auror Shacklebolt**: And they haven't made any contact with you or your family and friends?_

_**R. Weasley**: No. _

"Ron, what's this?" Mrs. Weasley asked, indicating the parchment with her hand.

"Huh?"

"Why does this report say that I talked to Harry and that Malfoy boy on New Year's Eve?" she asked.

Hermione and Ron both stopped what they were doing and looked up at her in astonishment.

"You didn't talk to Harry or Malfoy?" Ron asked his mother slowly.

"Why no," she said, surprised. "Should I have?"

* * *

Draco was in pain. Lots and lots of pain. Not the physical kind, oh no. Guinevere, or rather the red-headed bitch as Draco liked to think of her, needed him in great physical shape for whatever she had planned. It obviously wasn't whatever she had intended on doing last spring, because she'd had no qualms about beating the shit out of him then. It was in those few months with that madwoman and her cloaked companion that Draco thought that he had discovered true fear, but for once in his life, he was willing to admit that he was wrong. Fear of death was certainly a true fear, that was certain, but now Draco had something even greater to fear.

He'd had no word from Harry ever since they had entered that chamber many weeks ago. He had blacked out, not remembering much other than the room itself, but Guinevere had laughingly told him how Harry had taken his freedom immediately, not even glancing back at Draco as he left the chamber. Draco had refused to believe her, refused to believe that Harry would abandon him like that. Even if they hadn't become…friends during the past few months, Harry would never leave anyone like that. He couldn't; it just wasn't in his nature. He was the eternal Gryffindor, Dumbledore's golden boy, he would never leave someone to die.

But apparently that's just what Harry had done, because it must have been weeks now, and Harry hadn't come back for him. Harry hadn't tried to rescue him, hadn't told anyone to come look for him. Harry had left him here to die. And that hurt much worse than any knife could.

Draco was kept in a fairly comfortable room, though it was miniscule by Malfoy standards. It had a bed, desk, chair, and almost as many books as the chamber had. Draco poured over them, trying to find a way out, but they all seemed to be old wizarding tales about ancient creatures that had long gone extinct. Meals were delivered three times a day, and that was the only break he had from the monotony of books. Every few days Guinevere would stop by to gloat or even to just watch him as he sat there, doing nothing.

The really curious thing was that he had found a new scar on his left forearm, and he couldn't figure out how he had gotten it. The wound was fully healed, and it didn't cause him any pain, but no matter how hard Draco tried he couldn't remember how it had gotten there. He had even finally asked Guinevere about it, simply out of sheer frustration, but she had simply smiled at him before leaving, red hair swaying behind her. When he had called out again to her, the ever present cloaked tormentor had entered the room, and he'd had very little to say after that. Now he spent day after day, night after night, just sitting there and reading endless tales of dragons and hinkypuffs and witches who escaped burnings during the 17th century.

Draco laid out on the bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He was utterly exhausted, for some reason. He had done nothing strenuous all day long, but he felt as if had run a marathon and then still found time to swim across the English Channel afterwards. In fact, when Draco thought about it more carefully, he realized that he been getting steadily more tired every day. He was sleeping more, eating less, and it had gotten to the point where every movement was heavy, weighted down by some invisible force.

Draco sighed as he curled up onto his side, holding back his emotions as a Malfoy always should. He'd let too much of himself slip these past few months. Coming to Harry, starting a sort of friendship with him and Granger…thank Merlin he would never feel anything akin to friendliness when it came to the Weasel. But he had gone too far with his emotions, let his guard down. Fuck, he had actually trusted Harry, maybe even started to like him, maybe even…no.

He was done letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself trust someone else. It always turned out badly in the end. If he ever got out of this, he was going to go back to Madrid and start a new life there, a life without Dark Lords and bad women and Cruciatus curses and misery. A life without Harry Potter.

Just as Draco was starting to nod off, exhaustion sinking deeper than his very bones, the sound of a door opening reached his ears. He opened his eyes and saw Guinevere standing in the doorway, looking magnificent in an emerald gown that trailed behind her when she walked. It highlighted the paleness of her skin, the redness of her hair, and that absolute blue intensity of her eyes, which were staring straight at Draco and making him feel extremely uncomfortable. Though, not as uncomfortable as he felt when she smiled at him.

"Come, Draco. It is time."

* * *

Harry cracked his neck roughly, lifting an arm and trying to rub out the kinks in his neck and upper back. He had been staring at nothing but old pages of parchment for three hours straight, and he felt like he was about to keel over. Rising up heavily from his chair, Harry gathered up the half a dozen books or so he'd been looking through and brought them back over to the shelf, replacing them all at once.

He was about to turn away and take a nap when he saw that a book had fallen to the floor. Harry squatted down and picked it up, looking at it thoughtfully. He thought he had already read this one earlier, but some pages seemed to have been ripped out now that he looked more carefully. A close inspection of the inside cover also revealed that it was peeling back, and what was behind it didn't seem to be leather.

Cursing the voice inside of his head that was telling him that he was a depraved and ruinous boy for desecrating a book in such a manner (and funnily enough, the voice was an odd cross between Hermione and Madame Pince), he slid his fingers underneath the already peeled part and pulled on it, exposing the rest of the material.

A small piece of parchment slipped out and fluttered down to the floor. Glancing at the door, Harry snatched up the parchment and smoothed it out, hurrying to read what it said. His eyes widened as he took in its meaning, and he found that he couldn't move, just continued to sit there on the floor, staring interchangeably between what was written on the parchment and the tapestry hanging on the far wall.

"Fuck me," Harry said breathlessly.

"Well, not quite. I've never been one for necrophilia," a female voice came from behind him.

Harry spun around and saw that the door was wide open, something he had been praying would happen for weeks. But standing in the doorway was Guinevere, resplendent in a green gown, crystals woven into her long hair and eyes shining with power.

"Come, Harry. It's time."

Harry rose from the floor, determined to set himself and Draco free, but before he had even taken three steps, Guinevere raised her hand and there was a brilliant flash of light, and then darkness.

* * *

Dark. Dark, dark, dark. Harry couldn't see anything. He tried to open his eyes, but his vision was blurry and whatever light there was hurt them so bad that he immediately shut them again. His wrists hurt, and as he tugged lightly he could sense that they were tied with what felt like a thick rope. Harry groaned slightly as a flash of pain went through his body. His head was pounding, and as he tried to open his eyes again, he found that the light only served to make it worse.

"Potter?"

"Draco?" Harry answered, immediately recognizing the other man's voice. "Oh God, are you here?"

"Yes. I'm here," Draco responded. Harry felt something shift to his left, and nearly cried out in relief when he felt Draco brush up against his side.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Harry asked worriedly, remembering the last time Draco had been in Guinevere's company.

"No, I'm fine," came the reply.

"Where are we?"

A pause.

"I think it's the same dungeon we were originally in."

Harry felt the other man shift beside him, pulling their bodies further apart. An awkward silence ensued, leaving Harry wondering what was going on.

"Draco, is everything okay?" Harry asked slowly.

"It's fine, Potter. Everything's great."

"Bullshit," Harry replied. "Everything is not 'great'. We're locked up in a fucking…well…wherever the hell we are, and it is not 'great'."

Harry reached out as far as his tied hand would let him and grabbed Draco's wrist, not letting go as the other man desperately tried to pull away. They struggled for a bit, before Draco finally gave up and let Harry grip his wrist.

"Now answer the question. What is wrong?"

There was a long pause before Draco answered.

"Potter…where were you?"

"What?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Where were you this whole time? How did you---why did you come back?"

"Draco, I never _left!" _Harry tried to open his eyes to look at his companion, but was forced to shut them again when the light glared into his retinas. "I've been here this whole time, locked up in that damnable chamber, trying to figure out a way to get us out of here!"

Draco said nothing.

"I've been sitting there trying not to go insane because all I could do was sit and go through books, trying to find an answer, a way to get out. To help us, to get rid of the bitch. And fuck it all, half the time I was worrying about you," Harry spat out, for some reason enraged by Draco's silence. "But you don't even care. You never cared, you're still that spiteful vain Slytherin who--"

Harry stopped as he felt Draco move toward him, their bodies brushing once again. The hand he held in his wrist turned, and as he loosened his grip it moved and entwined their fingers. Harry gasped slightly as he felt a warm breath and soft lips at his throat.

"She told me you left," Draco murmured into Harry's throat.

"Wha-what?"

"She told me you left me, left me here to die," Draco explained, moving his lips softly back and forth across Harry's neck, before taking a little lick. Harry shuddered slightly underneath him. "I didn't want to believe her, but she kept me for weeks and weeks, and told me the same thing everyday, and I couldn't help but wonder…" he trailed off, nipping at Harry's jugular and then soothing it with his tongue. Harry moaned at that, tightly grasping the hand that was in his and straining to touch Draco, growling a bit when his restraints would only allow his other hand to get as far as his own stomach.

Draco pulled away then, leaving Harry gasping for more.

"No. Draco, I wouldn't have left. I couldn't have left, I…I…" Harry rambled.

"Harry, look at me," Draco commanded softly.

Harry tried once more to open his eyes, but the pain was still there. "I can't. It hurts, I can't."

"Harry," Draco chided, "just turn your head to the side, and look at me."

Harry hesitated a moment, before turning his head so that when he opened his eyes, he would be able to see Draco. He slowly opened them, one by one, and found himself gazing painlessly into Draco's gray eyes.

"How?…how?" Harry stammered.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up," Draco intoned, before leaning in and kissing him soundly on the lips, using Harry's surprised gasp as a way to sneak his tongue into that delicious warmth.

Harry arched toward him, ignoring the pain of pulling on the restraints, simply needing the comfort that Draco was now offering. God, how he had missed this. Harry had never, well, he had never really considered boys before Draco, but over the last few months he couldn't have helped but notice his blonde companion. And while Harry wasn't a virgin, this was entirely new and entirely unforgettable. Whatever those sparks were that people always talked about, they were there baby, they were there.

They continued devouring each other, tongues battling and hands seeking out what flesh they could in their limited mobility. But soon the angle proved to awkward, and Harry pulled back, neck hurting from the strain he had put on it, even though his face had lit up and he was wearing a ridiculous grin.

"So," he said breathlessly, "I guess that means I really do have to save you now."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please, Potter, like I need saving."

"Looks like it from here," Harry said.

"Right back at you, Potter."

They grinned at each other, laughing silently at their own antics, endorphins running through their bodies as they found a new high. They were so intent on themselves, that it took a moment before they realized there was someone else in the room.

"Quite a show, gentlemen," Guinevere stated, clapping her hands loudly as they turned toward her. "But not enough to merit saving. I'm afraid boys, that it's time to begin."

Please R/R. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Author's Notes 2: Haha, my sick self (quite literally) decided that I should write some more smut, thus their little make out session. But I didn't want to point it out before you read the chapter. More smut on the way, I promise. Besides, I have to marry these boys off, don't I? And there are many advantages to marital bliss...or we could just have them living in sin.evil grin 


	12. Chapter 11: Falling Into You

A/N: Wow, this was a long time in coming. Sorry for the delay folks, but here is a nice extra long chapter (almost double the normal size!) for you all! Dedicated to Jae for her encouraging comments and the piles of H/D goodness she piles on me _every single day_. Please enjoy the chapter, and I'll get back to writing the next one. Where's almost at the end folks! I hope you enjoy this enough to stick around for the rest of the ride.

Lunadragon

* * *

Danger Zone

-Chapter 11-

Undeterminable Date

"That bitch is going down," Draco snarled under his breath. "She will be drawn and quartered, but not before some water torture and a few choice hexes involving the pointy end of my wand…not to mention that old fencing sword I have lying around somewhere. Or I could break out Lucius' old scythe and give her a new orifice…"

He was laying down spread-eagled on the floor in the center of a circle, his hands and feet tied to it's rim. His pale chest rose steadily in the dim light of the dungeon, and he could tell that Harry was staring at him even though he couldn't turn his head to meet those eyes in return. As well as cursing his inability to see anything besides the cracks in the ceiling, he was starting to wish he had taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts so he could figure out the meaning of all those symbols painted on the floor.

Harry was still chained to the wall, pulling furiously every once and while at his restraints and glaring heatedly at Guinevere, who was conferring with her cloaked compatriot in the corner. They were making gestures with their hands towards himself and Draco, and Harry was sure he wouldn't like what they were saying if he could hear them. He could see Draco muttering what was most likely death threats that would grow more and more creative as time passed, knowing the blonde.

"…hang from the catwalk by her intestines and…"

_Oh yeah_, Harry thought. _Draco's pissed. _

He was just about to call out to Draco, when he heard a voice say _"Silencio"_, and he was unable to speak. A glance at Draco found him yelling furiously at being silenced, though no sound came out, and all Harry could see was an enraged young man arching off of the floor.

Guinevere's companion had left the room, and she was now circling around Draco, a small smile playing around her red lips. She walked over and dipped her hand into a large vase in the corner, before coming back and circling once more. As she walked, she let her hand flick at certain points in the circle, releasing a sheen of what looked like water onto the paint of the circle. Steam rose from the ground as the liquid touched it, and once she had come full circle, she reached into her robes and drew out a wand.

"Draco, darling, be a dear and release those gorgeous wings for me, won't you?" she asked, smiling down at him.

Draco stared murderously up at her, unable to reply.

"I won't ask again."

He spit up into her face. Harry nearly laughed out loud, wishing he could hear what else might have come out of Draco's mouth if he was able.

"Very well. We'll do this the hard way then," she sighed, frowning slightly, though if one were to look into her eyes there was no mistaking that heightened gleam.

"_Crucio."_

Draco's eyes widened in pain and his mouth opened in a silent scream as his back arched off the ground and his limbs twitched uncontrollably. Harry yanked ever the harder on his restraints, but he was solidly chained to the wall and though he considered himself a fairly strong young man, muscles couldn't break steel. And there Draco was, still caught in a silent scream, eyes now clenched tightly together, head thrown back roughly against the stone, fingernails drawing blood from his palms as they dug into his skin, every muscle in his body tense with pain and fear and so much hate that Harry wondered how anyone could manage to do this to another human being.

Then finally, _finally_, Draco's wings expanded, ripping from his back and wrapping around his torso as the spell was lifted and his limp body fell back to the stone floor. He was panting heavily, the sight disturbing without the sound to go with it, eyes wide open and staring up at his tormentor. Guinevere was smiling down at him and twisting her wand between her fingers, an innocent look on her face as Draco glared at her.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked mockingly, still smiling.

Draco just turned to the side and coughed up blood onto the dungeon floor.

"Perfect. You're practically doing my job for me, Draco," Guinevere grinned. "Though I will require a bit more than that."

A wand flick and that odd scar Draco had seen on his arm ripped open and blood flowed out in a steady stream onto the stone.

"And now for our other donor."

She walked over to Harry, wand still drawn and in her left hand. Harry soon found himself with a wand pressed to his throat and red lips pressed against his ear.

"I want you to know how much I appreciated you defeating Lord Voldemort for me, Harry. It must have taken so much out of you; you are quite the powerful wizard. It's uncanny, really, how much power you must have to defeat such a powerful dark lord at such a young age."

Harry could feel her eyelashes bat against his cheek, her wand choking him, nails digging into his flesh, lips ghosting over his ears and making him shiver involuntarily.

"So thank you Harry Potter, for taking away my only competition."

With that proclamation, she roughly turned Harry's head and kissed him full on the lips. Harry squirmed underneath her, jerking his chains as far as they would go. A flash of pain went through him as she sharply bit his lip and sucked. As she pulled away he could taste the coppery tang of blood on his lips, and he looked up see her red lips even darker with his own blood.

Guinevere turned from him and walked back to the circle, before spitting out his blood at Draco's feet. Licking her lips to get the rest of it, she smiled down at Draco, whose wings were still wrapped around him like a protective shield, though his face was clear and pale as he tried to hide his growing fear.

A dagger suddenly appeared in Guinevere's hand, silver glinting in the dim light.

"And now, for the final touch," she said softly, grasping the hilt and dragging the blade firmly over her left arm, mirroring Draco's own wound. She let the blood run freely down her arm and onto the circle, smile growing wider as the circle began to pulse a glowing light that continued to grow bright and brighter as each drop fell.

Guinevere started chanting softly, so lowly that neither Harry nor Draco could hear what she was saying, but both figured it couldn't possibly be something good. Harry struggled uselessly against his chains, pulling so hard he was afraid his wrists would bleed from the effort. Draco himself was still tied to the floor, wings tense and protective, eyes searching the ceiling for some sort of hope. He was mouthing something, Harry could see, but from the angle he was at it was nearly impossible to tell what Draco was trying to say.

Guinevere moved around the circle, arms raised, one clutching the dagger and the other her wand, which was emitting sharp sparks that bounced off the silver blade and flew into the darkness, pooling into the center of the circle, the center of Draco's being. As she moved, Harry got a clearer view of Draco's lips, and he could see that the other boy was repeating two words over and over again.

Once she came full circle, Guinevere lifted the silencing spell and intoned, "Let the transference _begin_."

Harry was just able to catch Draco's breathless "…wandless mag--" before Draco screamed and arched off the floor, wings expanding to full length. Harry felt a violent pain in his chest and something being wrenched out of his ribcage that left him gasping for air, tears streaming down his face. Red stained the floor around Draco, and as his wings lifted Harry could see a vivid ugly wound on his side, the one that Hermione had so deftly healed; the one that had opened in the explosion and Harry had healed with wandless magic while on the table. And now it was open again, blood nearly glowing as it traced the lines of the circle.

Draco was moaning and coughing up blood, and the pain in Harry's chest was growing more and more with each passing second. Guinevere herself was standing spine straight, arms raised and a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating and her green robes were rippling around her. Harry tried to ignore the pain that was spreading, ignore the magic that was growing in the room and being ripped from himself and Draco and passing into the crazed woman in front of him.

Staring at Draco laying there on the stone floor, stretched out in a pool of his own blood, wings beating erratically as he gasped for air, Harry only felt another pain in his chest, one that hurt just as much as the magically induced pain he felt. A gnawing dread was pooling in his stomach, and he knew that they couldn't last much longer. Draco's face filled his mind, and all he could hear were Draco's words.

"_Harry, can you do wandless magic?"_

Harry couldn't though. He'd only manage it twice, when he defeated Voldemort, and when he had been on some cursed table. He couldn't do wandless magic, plain and simple. He'd tried, tried so hard he was sure he was about to burst a blood vessel, but he just couldn't do it.

"_Can you do wandless magic?"_

He couldn't, he couldn't. He'd tried and failed. There was nothing left that he could do.

"_Wandless magic."_

Harry looked down at Draco again, bleeding and dying on the floor while Guinevere was shining like a beacon in the night, blue eyes flashing and a cruel smile on her lips, and he knew he couldn't let it end this way. Harry closed his eyes and reach down deep inside of himself, ignoring the pain, ignoring Draco's groans and shrieks, Guinevere's laughs of triumph as she seemed to float around the room. He focused on himself, on his magic, on conjuring up what he had only consciously done once before, in another desperate time when someone he loved was in danger, when the world that he loved was in danger. Harry reached out to the love he felt inside of himself and with all the strength he could muster, pulled on his chains one final time.

Though he had been hoping and praying for it, it still came as a bit of a shock when Harry found himself landing face first on the floor. He lay there for a few moments, gasping for air, then pulled himself to his feet. Raising his head up, his eyes locked with Guinevere's. Her pretty blue eyes were trained on him, a look of astonishment on her face as he stood defiantly, staring her down.

"_Immobilus," _Harry said. He felt his stomach lurch slightly, the magic still pouring out of him and into Guinevere, weakening him even as his power continued to grow. She didn't stop completely, but her movements were slowed enough that she could barely react when Harry took the dagger from her blood stained hand.

He walked into the circle of magic, wincing slightly as it tried to reject him, reject his intentions. He looked down at Draco who was staring up at him, wonder and awe on his pale face, and Harry could wait no longer. He looked up at Guinevere, directly into those maddeningly blue eyes, and spoke the words he had found hidden in an ancient book.

"_I know the purity of pure despair. A man goes far to find out what he is--Death of the self in a long, tearless night, all natural shapes blazing unnatural light. Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire. A fallen man, I climb out of my fear. The mind enters itself, and God the mind, and one is One, free in the tearing wind."_

Harry swooped down to lay lightly on top of Draco, smiling slightly as Draco's wings automatically opened and then circled around him, even as weak as he was. He pressed his lips lightly against Draco's, tasting the blood and tears mingling with sweetness. He pulled back and smiled bitterly.

"I think I might have loved you, Draco Malfoy," Harry whispered softly. "Thank you for setting me free. Goodbye."

He swiftly stood up, eyes never leaving Draco's which were now widening in horrified understanding. He grasped the dagger tightly in his hand and thrust it into his side, cutting into the skin and dragging the blade until he had created a wound that matched the one on Draco's own torso.

Harry screamed, sound ripping from his throat in a painful shriek that echoed in the no longer silenced room. Even as his voice faded out, however, another raw cry filled the room and Guinevere dropped to her knees. Her pretty face was contorted in agony, her beauty fading to mirror the monster within. Pressing her hands to her side, she pulled them away to see the dark blood that was staining them, staining her resplendent robes that now dripped red down the side.

Harry, though, was not looking at Guinevere, slowly dying before him as the power that she had stolen left her just as steadily as her blood did. He was looking at Draco, whose wings were relaxing, who had color returning to his pale face, whose many cuts were healing. As Harry and Guinevere bled, Draco healed, and soon the cut on his side had only a silvery scar to serve as a reminder of what had happened. Harry himself was not faring as well as Draco; blood continued to pour out of his sides as he stood shakily in the center of the now glowing circle, before he collapsed on top of Draco, head lolling in the crook of the blonde's neck.

Finally there was silence. Guinevere had collapsed to the floor as Harry did, twitching a few times before remaining still forever, green robes and red hair stained with blood and evil. Draco lay on the floor, drawing in large gulps of air in rapid succession, trying to process what had just occurred in front of him. He could feel Harry's breath against his throat, but that breath was slowing down and growing fainter with each exhalation. A sharp tug and his restraints came away, no longer unbreakable by a witch's magic. Draco brought his arms around Harry, his wings unconsciously mirroring the action around the both of them.

"Harry?" Draco tried tentatively. "Can you hear me?…Harry?"

Harry didn't answer.

"It's okay. I'm going to get us out of here. It'll be alright. It'll be alright," Draco said, nodding to himself, not sure any longer who he was reassuring.

* * *

"Hermione, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Ron pleaded, running his fingers though his red hair in exasperation.

"No, Ron, I -- I'm helping. It's what I need to do," Hermione said breathlessly, eyes never leaving the book in front of her.

Ron continued his pacing, back and forth down the length of Hermione's table, which was stacked with at least three dozen books of varying size and age. Every once in a while he would glance out the window, staring into the sunshine and green plains of the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione had been camped out in the library for the past few weeks, coming every morning and staying long into the night, before she finally returned to their flat in Hogsmeade, nearly half asleep and famished for lack of leaving her research, even for want of food and drink. There were dark circles under her eyes, she had lost weight, her hair was a mess as she no longer took the time to tame it, and she simply echoed a tiredness that ran down deep to her bones.

Ron looked only slightly better, with his disheveled appearance and hopeless eyes. He wasn't sure anymore of what was going on, and after his own mother was found to have had the _Imperius_ curse put on her, with no one noticing until the issue of New Year's Eve had been brought forth, Ron didn't know what to believe or who to trust. The only thing he did know, was that Harry and Draco were gone, had been for months now, and he and Hermione were getting desperate.

"Hermione, you're running yourself ragged. You need to bloody stop!" Ron nearly shouted, glancing uneasily at Madame Pince, who was watching them like a hawk at her desk.

"But I _can't_ stop, Ron. Not until I've found them," Hermione said, looking at Ron with tears in her eyes.

"I know, but we've been looking, and the Aurors are still looking. They'll find them, I know they will," Ron said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"But what if they don't?" Hermione whispered, head resting on his arm.

"They will. They have to," he said.

They stayed in companionable silence for a few minutes, just trying to find a moment of tranquility in all of the chaos. Ron sighed, tired of musty books and sleepless nights, worrying over his best friend…and maybe a little bit over Malfoy as well…but only a little….a miniscule amount, really, you might as well disregard it all.

He sighed again, glancing out the window before peering down at Hermione's stack of books. Wait a minute. Ron yanked his head back, eyes squinting as he stared out the window once more. Something was coming.

"What the bloody hell is--"

Ron was cut off as a large figure smashed through the window, sending glass and pieces of wood flying everywhere. The large lump of black wings and pale flesh landed hard on the floor in front of Hermione's table, jarring it and sending half of the books toppling to the library floor, though the sounds were dampened by Hermione's rather loud shrieks. Ron stood still in utter shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Draco? Draco! Oh my god, where's Harry? Harry!" Hermione screeched, for perhaps the only time in her entire life yelling without disregard in the middle of a library.

"Harry?" Ron tentatively asked, recovering from his sudden paralysis. A part of his brain found it ironic that he had been ready for action before, but now he just needed to see Harry's face to make everything alright.

Glass and wood shifted as black wings moved underneath, spreading and shaking out the debris before folding back to their natural, relaxed state. Now that they were no longer covering what lay beneath, Ron could see that Draco was breathing heavily, chest rising up and down rapidly, arms wrapped around a motionless figure beneath him. A motionless figure with a shock of unruly black hair…

"Harry!" he shouted, reaching down to lift Draco off of him, Hermione right behind him.

"Mr. Weasley!" came a horrified voice. Madame Pince made her way over to their table. "You depraved boy, what _have_ you done to my library--oh, dear me!"

"Madame Pince, you must call for Madame Pomfrey. At once!" Hermione called, alternatively reaching out to touch Draco's shaking form or Harry's still one, and wringing her hands in her lap after she decided she shouldn't touch them for fear of hurting them even more.

They sat in silence, ignoring the stares of the students, as Draco continued to shiver, clutching desperately to Harry's still body. Ron had long ago tried to find signs of life in his friend, and to say he was extremely relieved to find a pulse would be an understatement of the grossest kind, but nevertheless the truth. Harry's side was bloody, though it looked like most of the bleeding had stopped as the blood had coagulated and a makeshift bandage ripped from what looked like the remains of Draco's tattered pants prevented more from escaping.

Hermione repeatedly tried to get Draco to talk, as Harry was clearly incapable, but the blonde couldn't get a word out without starting to shake even more violently than before. She tried casting healing spells, but nothing could stop his shaking, and Harry remained as comatose as before. Finally Madam Pomfrey arrived, with McGonagall and Snape at her heels, spells and potions at the ready. All watched silently as Pomfrey began to work.

* * *

Draco's eyes snapped open. He took in a few shuddering breaths, staring at the white ceiling of the infirmary. As soon as he was able, Draco sat up, ripping the sheets off his lower legs as he searched wildly around the room. When the only sight that met his eyes were empty sterile hospital beds, Draco started panicking.

"Pomfrey?" he called, turning on the spot in the middle of the infirmary. "Pomfrey!"

"Mr. Malfoy, please return to your bed," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Draco spun around to see Snape standing in front of him. The Potions Master looked down his nose at his former student.

"I dare say that Madame Pomfrey will be very displeased upon learning that you have not remained in bed until she suggested otherwise. And I have more important things to occupy my time with than Poppy's ill-conceived notions of chastisement, such as dealing with incompetent Aurors and Ministry officials who would like to know where you and Potter have been. "

Draco stared at his mentor, teacher, and friend, before he took the few steps forward and grasped Snape in a desperate hug. Snape appeared shocked for a few moments, before the lines around his mouth relaxed and his arms slowly encircled Draco in return. They stood there for a few moments, lost in thought, before they simultaneously pulled away and straightened their clothing, looking anywhere but at each other.

After a few moments of silence, they both spoke at the same time.

"I trust you're feeling--"

"Is Harry--"

They both stopped, the tension broken.

"I'm fine, Severus," Draco said. "How's Harry? Is he--did he wake up?"

Snape didn't answer right away. "Come with me, Draco."

* * *

Draco stood at the foot of Harry's bed, unable to move. The one person that had always been a constant in his life, whether it was a name whispered in the streets, an annoying schoolboy rival, a savior during the war, or a protector and companion when all went to hell, was laying pale and motionless on the bed in his own private room.

Harry was dressed in soft cotton pajamas, laying on his back with the covers pulled up to his chest. His chest rose steadily, life flowing in and out of him, but Draco knew that at any moment the breath could stop moving, and Harry would cease to exist. His side was heavily bandaged, despite Madame Pomfrey's best efforts at magical healing, and Draco felt the ghost of pain run down his side.

"Oh god," Draco choked out. "You stupid, stupid Gryffindor. What'd you have to go and do that for?"

"What exactly is--oh! _Mr. Malfoy! _What _are_ you doing out of bed?"

Draco turned to see Madame Pomfrey standing at the doorway to the private room, a tray of potions in her hands.

"I'm fine, Madame Pomfrey," Draco answered. "I got healed when he…when he--"

Draco gesture helplessly toward Harry, unable to form the words he needed to say, the guilt he needed to confess.

"Yes, there are traces of sacrificial magic on him, particularly around the wound on his side, and in his chest cavity. Though, of course, I need to hear the full story to be able to heal him properly," she stated calmly, only giving him a slight look as she walked past the blonde and sat her tray down on the table by Harry's bed.

"But surely he's going to be alright?" Draco asked quickly.

"Mr. Malfoy I think you had better speak with--"

"Tell me! _Now!_" Draco shouted, walking directly in front of the nurse.

"He…Mr. Malfoy…" Madame Pomfrey trailed off.

"Draco," came a voice from behind him.

He turned to see Snape standing right behind him, dark eyes touched with regret.

"Draco, there's no guarantee that he'll ever regain consciousness."

He stood there for a few moments, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything.

"What?" he managed, staggering back a bit to sit on the edge of Harry's bed.

"He's in a comatose state, Mr. Malfoy. His body needs to heal, and until it's done healing, he won't wake up. The problem is that we don't know the extent of the damages, so we can't help him. We can only do so much," Madame Pomfrey explained softly.

"But, I can tell you! I was there. I saw everything! He--" Draco started.

"No, Draco," Snape shook his head, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "No matter how much you tell us, we can't fix this ourselves. This is a magic that we've never seen before. There isn't a known cure."

"No," Draco whispered. "No, no, no, no."

* * *

Draco sat in silence, watching Harry as he slept, as he breathed, as he healed. He hadn't moved from his spot for days, refusing to return to his bed and barely eating the food that was brought to him. Madame Pomfrey was nearly beside herself in frustration, threatening body-binding curses and bed straps, but every time she caught that sad grey gaze, she relented.

He was starting to grow uncomfortable, his left leg going numb, but Draco ignored his discomfort, watching Harry avidly for any sign of movement, any hope that he would take a large breath, open his eyes, and be the bright young man he was before. Draco kept replaying the events over and over again in his mind, unable to believe them.

Harry _loved _him? No. That was ridiculous. That was the Gryffindor that was afraid to die alone without love dribble. A few kisses, a few months of living together as the best of friends, sharing sins and regrets, some time held in captivity by a psychotic bitch and nearly dying because of it; surely that wasn't love. No, that was fondness, camaraderie, friendship, brotherhood…attraction, lust, sparks, chemistry, deep connections that only they would ever understand….shit. Maybe it was a little more than friendship after all.

Draco was dragged out of the chaos of his thoughts by the chaos that was occurring out in the hallways. He could hear voices arguing, and judging by the rising volume, they were getting closer. Just as they were outside the door, he finally recognized the voices as Ron and Hermione, and he took a deep breath as he watched the doorknob turn as Hermione shushed Ron into silence.

No sooner had the door opened than Draco found himself with a lapful of Hermione Granger, her boyfriend watching them warily, though the majority of his focus was on Harry. Hermione was crying into Draco's shoulder, all previous anger forgotten, as she sobbed out apologies for not having been able to find him and Harry sooner, for not finding a cure for Harry's coma.

"It wasn't your fault, Hermione," Draco said, trying to be comforting but really just wanting to watch Harry in peace. "Now stop that, foolish Gryffindor, you're ruining my favorite shirt."

Hermione laughed through her tears, fingering the standard hospital pajamas that Draco was still dressed in. Even Ron managed to crack a weak smile, before he turned his attention back to his fallen friend. The three of them stayed silent, watching the unnerving serenity that seemed to envelope Harry, even if death might only be a few scant steps away.

"Draco," Hermione said softly, reluctantly breaking the silence. "Professor Snape has already told us the majority of what happened, but…"

"You want to hear it from me," Draco said, keeping his gaze steadily on Harry.

"Well, yes. Though, if it's too soon to relive again--" Hermione said hurriedly.

"No. No, it's alright," he replied, finally meeting her eyes. "But I do have one question first."

"Alright," Hermione acquiesced immediately.

"How long?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"How long were we gone for?"

Hermione sputtered. "I…Professor Snape thought it would be best…I….McGonagall doesn't…"

"Three months."

Draco and Hermione turned to look at Ron, who was now turned toward them, face unreadable.

"Three months, 2 days, and roughly thirteen hours. You were gone New Year's Eve, you came back the first of April. From what we can gather, the ceremony you got your scar from took place on the equinox. Today's the sixth. You were gone for three months," Ron said quietly.

Draco sat back, hardly able to believe that what had seemed like maybe a few weeks had been an entire season.

"Three months," he repeatedly hoarsely. "Three fucking months."

Ron and Hermione let Draco process this new information, patiently waiting for him to gather himself. As soon as he was able, he left his chair and sat on Harry's bed, taking the other man's hand gently in his, ignoring Hermione's questioning gaze and Ron's startled reaction.

"I guess it's story time again, children," he said softly.

* * *

"Draco? It's nearly midnight," Hermione said tiredly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Just a few more minutes," Draco answered, not moving from his perch next to Harry's bed.

It had been two and a half months since Draco had returned to Hogwarts, crashing threw the fifth story window of the library and carrying a nearly dead Harry Potter with him. Harry had remained in his coma, magical means keeping him fed and hydrated and his muscles from atrophying. There had been no sign that he would wake, but Draco kept a watchful eye, only leaving Harry's side to sleep, eat, and very rarely to help Snape in the dungeons. Draco would swear if anyone asked him that Harry was looking better, that the color was a bit more prominent in his cheeks, that his ribs weren't sticking out of his thin chest as much, that his body was warmer; but no one asked, so Draco kept his thoughts, and his hope, to himself.

"Draco, nearly killing yourself isn't going to help Harry heal any faster," Hermione said gently.

"I know," he readily replied. "I just….something's going to happen tonight. I can feel it."

"What's so special about tonight?" Hermione asked.

"It's our anniversary."

"What?" Hermione laughed in surprise.

"In a few minutes it will be June 21st, Hermione. What were you doing on that date last year?" Draco questioned.

"I was…we were in the Three Broomsticks, Ron and Harry and I. We were talking about our future, and then…"

"And then I stumbled in," Draco finished. "Into the pub and back into your lives. I found Harry that day, and maybe now that it's come again, he'll be able to find me."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Oh, Draco--"

"Hermione?" came a soft knock on the door. "Are you in here?"

Ron came through, red hair a mess and hastily dressed. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a regular party," Draco said sarcastically before she could answer. "Now we just need Harry and we'll really be having fun!"

"Oh stop it," Hermione said, slapping him slightly on the arm. "I'll be right there, Ron."

He nodded sleepily and turned around, heading back to the room McGonagall had provided for them, as they were such frequent visitors to Harry's bedside. Hermione gave Draco a light kiss on the cheek, slapping his arm again when he winced good-naturedly.

"Ugh, Granger germs. And mostly likely Weasel ones as well," he said, making a face.

"Just don't stay up too late. I worry about you, too, you know," Hermione answered.

"I know, I know," Draco said tiredly, waving her off. "I'll be done in a minute."

He waited until she had left the room, shutting the door lightly behind her, before he moved from his position on the chair and curled up next to Harry on the bed, taking the other man's hand in his own. Draco lay silently with his eyes closed, breathing in deeply and matching Harry's breaths, not noticing when they speeded up, or when the hand that lay in his own began to grip his own hand in return.

All the thoughts that had been building up since he had woken up in the hospital wing all those weeks ago were preying heavily on his mind, forcing him to speak. He didn't know how to voice what he wanted to say, he only knew that after months of agonizing over it, and examining it from every possible angle, he had only one conclusion and he was ready to confess it now.

"I…I don't know much about love, Harry," he said softly, whispering the words into Harry's neck. "My mother had her duties as a wife, and my fath-- Lucius had his duties as a husband, and that was it. I knew as a child that I wouldn't receive the hugs and kisses that other children did; I would be raised proud and strong like a Malfoy. No weaknesses. I was never fooled into believing that I was cherished or wanted for any reason other than the fact that I was the Malfoy heir; Lucius made sure of that. But…I've seen how Hermione and Weasley look at each other, when they think the other person doesn't notice and that no one else is watching. They get a silly smile and look like they're about to melt into the floor with joy. I don't know if I've ever been that happy, but sometimes I think I've gotten close to it…and all those times you've always been right there with me. And for some reason, I don't think I could ever reach that happiness again unless you make it to my side once more."

Draco shuddered, trying not to feel utterly helpless as he grasped Harry's Quidditch-calloused hand tightly in his own.

"So…you have to wake up, Harry. You have to. Because I think if I gave it a chance, I might be able to love you, too."

Draco felt his body collapse against Harry's, emotionally drained and further exhausted from sleepless nights. He took deep breaths to calm himself and wiped nonexistent tears from his face. It was only as he started to get up that he felt the bed shift and a brush of soft hair tickle his forehead. Not daring to believe it, Draco hesitantly raised his head and met Harry's green eyes, confused but also sparkling with relief and happiness and something else that Draco couldn't place.

"Harry?" he breathed.

Harry smiled at him.

"Hey, Draco."

Draco just stared down at Harry, unable to believe he had finally woken, before he snapped out of it and roughly pulled Harry into a desperate hug, nearly laughing with release and joy when he felt Harry hug him back.

"Harry. Oh Merlin, Harry you're awake," he said breathlessly, never releasing his hold on the other man. "I thought…I thought…"

"I know what you thought," Harry said quietly, words nearly muffled into Draco's shoulder.

"You…you what?"

"I heard you. Tonight. It was like I was dreaming, and I couldn't wake up. Then I felt you next to me, felt your breath against my ear, and I heard what you said. I heard, and then I woke up," Harry explained softly, pulling back slightly to look Draco in the eye, even as they were widening as panic and insecurity grabbed hold of the blonde.

"No, don't," Harry protested, not letting go as Draco tried to pull away. "Please don't, Draco."

Draco stilled, looking warily at the ground and not meeting Harry's eyes.

"Draco, I don't know that much about love either. The Dursleys…well, they thought a bit differently about that subject than most people do. And I can't say for certain now that I do love you. All that I know is that if you pull away from me, if you leave…I couldn't bear it. Please, Draco. Please. You don't have to love me, just…just don't leave me."

Draco gathered his courage and turned back to Harry, eyes blinking rapidly to hold back tears.

"But I do, Harry," he said, wincing slightly as his voice cracked. "I think I do."

Harry grinned, lightly up the whole room, and leaned forward to brush his lips lightly against Draco's. They smiled against each other's lips, and then parted, the grins never leaving their faces as they lay back down in Harry's bed, enjoying the warmth of the moment.

* * *

TBC. Please R/R. 


	13. Chapter 12: Paella and a Proposal

A/N: Hello all. Sorry for the delay, but real life and a somehow ridiculously hard chapter to write got in the way. I present you with one of the final chapters of Danger Zone; I'm quite sure there will only be two more, plus an epilogue, and I hope you all stick around for the end. Thank you so much for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy what's ahead.

On a side note, there is some sexual content in this chapter. It is not graphic, as doesn't hold with that, but it does have some language, and I hope to not offend anyone with what is in fact posted. For those of you who would prefer not to read it, feel free to skip it and go straight to the ending part. For those of you interested, there is a more detailed version on my LJ and on KTB. Once again, I'm not trying to offend anyone with the content of this chapter, and I give you this warning ahead of time just in case. Thank you, and enjoy.

* * *

-Chapter 12-

Paella and a Proposal

June 21, 1999

"Oh, gross! Do they have to do that?"

Harry opened his eyes slightly, grinning into Draco's mouth as he saw the disgusted look on Ron's face. He knew that his friend didn't really mean it; after all, he had been watching their gestures of affection for the better part of the day already…but Draco was another matter.

Draco pulled back a bit, gave Ron an evil glare, and then yanked Harry towards himself, pressing their bodies together and swiping his tongue inside Harry's warm mouth. They both groaned at the sensation and sudden roughness, though Draco's eyes were still open and sparkling mischievously at the wide eyed look on Ron's face.

"Honestly, Ron, they both nearly died, right after they found each other. There's no need to be rude," Hermione chastised.

"Yeah, Weasley," Draco pulled away to say, though he did not relinquish his tight hold on Harry. "I nearly _died_. I was nearly sacrificed, but Harry saved me. We _found_ each other, Weasley. Don't ruin our happiness after we _almost died_."

Ron got a guilty look on his face, though it was replaced by a slightly unhappy one again as Draco went back to kissing Harry breathless. Hermione just chuckled to herself, amused at their obvious antics, and her boyfriend's complete obliviousness. They only stopped as the imposing figures of Severus Snape and Headmistress McGonagall made their way into the room, followed by several Aurors and Ministry officials who were waiting to hear from Harry what had happened. McGonagall had a twitch on her lips as she eyed their close positions and clasped hands; Snape's face was sour, especially as he looked at Harry; the people from the Ministry openly gaped at the pair, until Draco cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in question.

Snape recovered instantly, stating that they would like to question Harry about the events leading up to his coma.

Draco immediately protested.

"He's only been awake for a few hours. Do we _have_ to do this now?" he complained, glaring at the Aurors but looking pleadingly at Snape.

"I'm afraid so, Draco," Snape explained, his voice by no means soft, but a little less harsh than usual. "Harry is the only one who knows of what truly happened between him and that…witch, and it is imperative that the Ministry understands the knowledge that he now possesses, before it fades into memory."

"Trust me," Harry said calmly. "There is now way I will ever forget the events of that day." Though his body was stiff with remembrance, he relaxed slightly as Draco gently squeezed his hand. "It may take me a moment, but I can talk about."

One of the Aurors stepped forward and introduced himself, before asking the remaining people to leave the room.

This time it was Harry who protested, though Draco wasn't far behind.

"No. I want them here, so I won't have to repeat it again."

"I'm not leaving him!"

"Very well, very well," McGonagall said, a twinkle reminiscent of Dumbledore in her eye. "Let's all hear it then, from the very beginning."

"Okay," Harry nodded, taking a few deep breaths as he saw the Aurors bring out Quick Quotes Quills, and McGonagall conjuring a few more chairs so they would all be more comfortable.

"Alright," he started. "We were in the kitchen, when there was this huge explosion…"

* * *

"…and she just transformed, right before our eyes! I swear, Professor, she must have been like Tonks! A Metamorphagus." 

"But then there is no way to truly identify her!" one Auror declared. "Unless you saw her after she had passed, or if you can find your way back to her prison."

Harry shook his head. "No. I didn't see her body, and I have no idea where we were. Draco?"

Draco paused, thinking hard. "I was a bit preoccupied with you at the time…I'm not sure if I could find my way back….I don't even know how I found my way back to Hogwarts really. It was really just instinct while I was flying."

Snape nodded, his fingertips tapping each other gently in front of him. He spoke for the first time since Harry had begun his tale, "And what of the power exchange she was planning? The theory behind it is rather….interesting. And Draco was unable to help us with the exact details, claiming to be in a type of fog, just as you described."

"Yes. After she transformed into Gwen O'Malley, she locked me into the chamber, taking Draco with her. I tried everything I could to get out, but nothing worked. I eventually decided to take advantage of the library she had left at my disposal. It was with that information that I finally figured out the exact proportions of the ritual involving Draco."

Harry took a deep breath before continuing.

"Draco's Veela heritage that was awoken by Voldemort," he ignored the winces that the Ministry officials and Ron still gave, "revealed his potential to be used as conduit for a magical transfer, a one-way exchange. In the beginning I thought that she wanted to transfer Draco's power to herself, as the rituals in the book had outlined."

"You can suck someone's magic right out of them?" Ron shrieked, looking like he wanted to climb onto the nearest chair and hide from the mouse in the corner.

"No, Ron, it only works with Draco," Hermione said tiredly.

"Oh," he replied, completely serious. "Well, now I know that." He nodded for Harry to continue, ignoring everyone's stares.

Harry shook his head a bit and held in his laughter, before sobering up once more. "But when she finally came back and started to begin, it was obvious that Draco was merely an intermediary and a means to get at my own power. She tied us up, took both of our blood, and began the transfer."

"We already know that you managed to escape your restraints, thanks to Mr. Malfoy's account of events. How do you explain that, and what happened next?" the same Auror questioned.

Harry looked down at his and Draco's hands before answering. "I used…I used wandless magic to break free. Draco…was dying. I could feel it. The transfer was killing him, never mind the magic that was being taken from the both of us. Once I was free I forced myself into the circle and managed to stop Guinevere for a few seconds. It was enough."

Harry looked up, green eyes blazing. "The tapestry that had been burned showed a blue eyed figure, a dragon, and something behind it. It, along with a few words I found in a hidden book, were the key to understanding it all. The dragon had the same cut that Draco had when he first arrived, the Guinevere re-opened….and which I then cut into myself. Sacrificial wandless magic, given by a willing person to save the life of another. Given without fear, with the purity of despair and its absolute intentions, with the innocence of both light and dark, to be able to make the ultimate sacrifice and give it freely, without desiring anything in return. In a ritual that depended on the unwilling given blood and power of its participants, what I offered was the exact opposite, and worked to counteract all of its ill effects and reverse the transfer. Just as my mother sacrificed herself to save me, I knew I had to sacrifice myself to save Draco, with the one power that a Dark witch or wizard would not be able to fight against, to be able to understand or comprehend."

"And what power was that, Mr. Potter?" the Auror asked.

Harry's eyes met Draco's, and stayed there.

"Love."

* * *

Once the Aurors and Ministry officials had been ushered out, with promises that they would continue to search for Guinevere's cloaked companion and her lair, Harry and Draco continued to lay on the bed together. Harry was still under Madame Pomfrey's confinement, and Draco wasn't about to let Harry out of his sight. As it was, they had a lot to discuss now that Harry was awake, the most prominent issue being the future and the repercussions of what would happen once all the information was released to the public, who had undoubtedly noticed when Harry went missing and then returned unconscious several months later. 

Draco was talking rapidly about all the plans they had to make, on how he had made little changes here and there to the flat and that of course Harry would simply love them, and how much attention and fame were now going to be heaped upon them once more. Harry himself was trying desperately to reconcile two very different sides of himself, one part that wanted to visit his friends and return to life as it was, and another that simply wanted to get away from everything and just _be _with Draco, now that he had him. Watching Draco speak animatedly about his Potions now, and how he hadn't felt so at peace with his work since he had been in Spain, even with the late dinners, Harry came to a decision.

"Let's go to Spain," he said, interrupting Draco's babblings about the uses of holly and sea water in a salve for bruises.

"What?" Draco asked, completely confused.

"I said, let's go to Spain," Harry repeated calmly. "As soon as we see everyone and get things sorted out, let's just leave. Just go someplace and relax and not have to worry about anything."

"But Harry--"

"You said so yourself, you can be at peace with your potions back in Spain. It's where you first started developing your wing potion, after all."

"But Harry," Draco tried again, "you would _hate_ it. It's the bustles of London, but in a completely different language and with different standards of magic, and sure the food and people are great once you get away from the tourists but you wouldn't have a clue what to do and…"

"You could simply teach me Spanish and no one would bother us, because I'm not important over there, and we could just spend a month or so by ourselves in utter seclusion, having copious amounts of sex and wine and food and not having a care in the world," Harry said, smiling winningly.

Draco still looked troubled, but then he smiled and his eyes sparkled. "What was that about wine and food and sex?"

"Well, I'd give you a preview, but one, Pomfrey could barge in any minute and I'd rather not have interruptions; and two, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing when it comes to having sex with you, so I'd rather leave our exhibitionist sides for when I have a bit more experience."

"Oh trust me," Draco grinned, "You're going to get all the experience and tutelage you need." Peppering light kisses all over Harry's face, he continued huskily, "_Soy un profesor muy bueno_."

* * *

June 30, 1999 

"Oh my god that is amazing. What do you call it again?"

"_Paella_. It's a traditional Spanish meal, and therefore perfect for our first night," Draco answered.

"It's great, Draco." Harry spooned more of the rice dish into his mouth, before discovering a giant prawn under the rice and chewing on that as well, humming appreciatively as the spices and flavors burst onto his palate.

"I can't believe this it happening. We're having a candlelight dinner under the stars on a cobblestone street in the middle of a foreign country. I don't know the language, the customs, the people….and I really couldn't care less about my inability to communicate at this point. I just know that I want to learn, and to take a breather." Harry leaned forward over the table, placing his hand over Draco's.

'Thank you, for this," he said softly. "I needed it."

Draco turned his palm upwards to meet Harry's, entwining their fingers.

"No, Harry. Thank _you_."

* * *

July 31, 1999 

Harry sighed a bit impatiently. Tonight was his and Draco's last night in Spain. They had already packed most of their things in preparation for their departure in the morning, and Harry was starting to realize how much he would truly miss the new country he had learned to love.

The past month had been exhilarating, and he had spent his time well learning a new language as best as he could; shopping and sightseeing; visiting beautiful mosques and cathedrals with exquisite architecture and art; traveling to Toledo and picking out his own sword from the incredible designs they had on display, and laughing as Draco picked an exact replica of Gryffindor's sword, save for it was inlaid with emeralds instead of rubies. He and Draco had traveled the countryside, reveling in the green hills and soft blues of the Castilian sky and enjoying the easy familiarity of the people who lived in them. He had seen Spain at its best, with the flashy and exciting nightlife of Madrid, and the rustic and stoic beauty of Seville. It was truly an experience he would never forget, living in a place that was so exhilarating. And best of all: no one recognized the Boy Who Lived.

The serenity he had so recently found, however, was fast fading as he waited on Draco. Usually punctual, the blonde was late to their dinner celebrating both his birthday and their last night in seclusion. He had received owls carrying packages and well wishes earlier in the day, though Draco had made no mention of the presents. In fact, he hadn't wished Harry a pleasant birthday either, or even acknowledged the day as anything but their last in Spain. Harry was a bit hurt by the slight, but he let it go, since he had been unconscious for Draco's birthday back in June and was hardly in a position to compare.

Harry sighed again, drumming his fingers on the table and leaning his head against his other hand, before getting up and walking over to sit down on the edge of the hill. The night was gorgeous, the sun just beginning to set over the horizon, and though it was completely sappy and romantic of him, he wished that Draco were here to witness such beauty by his side.

"Thinking of me?" a voice whispered in his ear.

"Always," Harry smiled, turning around and meeting Draco's lips in a passionate kiss, twining his fingers through the man's blonde locks so that he could pull him closer.

The grin was still on his face when they pulled away from each other and Draco sat down next to him on the grassy hill overlooking the quaint town they were staying in. Harry leaned into Draco's warmth, smiling into his neck and ignoring everything else in the world beside him.

"Dinner's getting cold," Draco murmured, though his arm didn't move from Harry's shoulders.

"Let it," Harry sighed.

"But I made it especially for you, as your present," Draco said. "Harry?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "You made me a special dinner?"

"Hmm. Dessert, too," Draco agreed. "A lovely chocolate torte, with a raspberry puree finish."

"_You_ made it?"

"Yes. I am an excellent cook."

Harry was silent again before he raised his head and looked Draco straight in the eye.

"Dinner can wait."

* * *

They stumbled into the hotel room, kissing furiously and ripping off the clothes they could reach. Draco kicked the door closed, barely registering the slam it made nor the expensive vase that fell off of its shelf. Harry's hands were on Draco's belt, quickly unbuckling it and nearly tearing off the button of his pants as he yanked the fabric and snaked a hand inside. Harry grinned as Draco moaned appreciatively into his mouth and an answering hand found its way into his own pants. 

They continued half-stumbling, half-walking together, shirts half on and pants pooled around ankles, shucking off shoes as they furiously stroked and squeezed and twisted until the back of Harry's knees reached the bed and he fell on top of it, pulling Draco down with him.

"Enough!" he gasped, pulling his lips and hands away from the blonde. "I don't want to come yet. I want…I want you in me. I want to feel you come inside me, all hot spit and sweat and sex."

Draco's eyes closed as he groaned. "Fair enough."

The last of their clothing was thrown down to the floor, and Harry was on all fours. A few weeks ago Harry would have never thought he could do this, behave so wantonly and feeling only dark, deep desire inside of him, the urge to _fuck_ and _take_ and _be taken_. He could never have imagined the slick and slightly burning feel of Draco's fingers. This was so fast, so furious, so rough and dirty and quicker than any time they'd ever spent together yet, and Harry was so incredibly turned on that he couldn't even speak, only whimper and groan for more.

"Now?" Draco breathed, his hot breath against Harry's ear.

"Now."

Those fingers were pulled away and Harry was breached before Draco paused, allowing Harry to adjust. It was only a few seconds, though, before Harry nodded rapidly and rolled his hips back roughly. They groaned in unison as they were finally joined, stilling for a moment, before something snapped and Draco and Harry were fucking, hard and fast and wonderfully brilliant.

Harry reached an arm back and grasped Draco's head as he leaned over him, yanking on the blonde strands and twisting himself around so that he could kiss Draco, lips barely brushing each other at such an angle, but all the emotion and passion still passing through them.

Harry was so close, the sweat pouring off him and rubbing back into Draco as they ground together, nothing else mattering in the world except for the sensations running through them, nothing else except for Harry being filled and Draco being the one to fill him. He could feel Draco getting close too, and he knew it would just take a little bit more to push them both over the edge.

"Harder," Harry groaned. "Come on, Draco. Fuck me. Pound me into the mattress. _Fuck_ me."

Draco groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head, andhis orgasm hit him like a freight train, rolling feverishly through him and burning a fire through his whole body. His heavenly bliss was intoxicating, and then Harry was right there with him, yelling out his ecstasy as well.

They collapsed in a sweaty, hot tangle of limbs and harsh breaths that echoed in the now silent room. They stayed like that for a few moments, still entwined and panting harshly, before Draco pulled himself from Harry and flopped onto his back, one arm over his head and the other draped possessively over Harry's back.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Draco chuckled a bit at their inability to form better responses, but soon even laughing required too much energy. Harry scooted closer, allowing their bodies to huddle closer and keep the warmth they had so recently made. They lay together in silence, soaking up the radiance that nearly exuded from their frames.

"I love you," came the whisper from somewhere around his hair.

Harry stilled, barely feeling Draco's hand still ghosting over his back. Though Draco had implied it many times, he had never flat out declared his feelings for Harry. And this…

Harry raised his head so he could look Draco in the eyes, but he saw no mistrust, no hesitation, no worries in those grey orbs. All he saw was warmth and confidence and…yes, there was love.

"Say it again?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco lowered his head so that his mouth was right by Harry's ear, and then spoke again, "I love you, Harry," before pulling back and meeting Harry's eyes once more.

Green eyes sparkled back at him, filled with joy and laughter. "I love you, too."

Draco smiled and stroked Harry's face.

"I know. Happy Birthday, love."

* * *

October 11, 1999 

"He what!" Harry asked, a look of shock on his face.

"He proposed! Harry, I'm getting married! We're getting married," Hermione shouted excitedly, face red with joy and possibly the heat of the fire from where her head was suspended.

"Why that's brilliant, Hermione. Congratulations! Have you set a date?" Harry inquired politely.

"Oh, some time soon. Right after the new year, maybe. But that just means we have so much to plan! I've got to do some research, get books on the subject, talk to my mum and Mrs. Weasley, get brochures for reception areas…."

"That's great, Hermione, you do that. Call me when you both decide, all right?" Harry interrupted.

"Oh yes, of course. Bye! Now where is Ron?" Harry heard her mumble before the connection broke.

Harry sat there for a few minutes, grinning widely and shaking his head, before he got off his knees and turned back to his desk. Draco himself was sprawled out on the couch nearby, reading a book and looking highly amused.

He and Draco were in the study of their new flat in London. After the busy life of Madrid, Harry had decided he didn't want to go back to the quietness of Hogsmeade just yet. Draco was more than happy to comply with living in a section of Wizarding London that was situated right next door to the hottest clubs and restaurants in the city.

"Now _what_ is so funny?" Harry asked finally, as Draco continued to stare at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Nothing," Draco protested. "I'm just surprised Granger didn't see through that completely fake look of shock you gave her when she announced the engagement."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked innocently.

"Come off it, Harry! I know perfectly well you went shopping with the Weasel last week to search for engagement rings. You knew he was going to propose, and of course she would say yes," Draco said, waving his hand around.

Harry paused for a few seconds, before he turned back to Draco, biting his lip. "Was I really that obvious? I knew she would be so excited and I didn't want to spoil it for her and…"

"Hush, Harry," Draco said, brushing his lips over the Gryffindor's to stop his babbling. "Granger may be brilliant, but no one can read you like I can…and it better stay that way."

Harry just laughed at Draco's jealousy. "Like I would have it any other way."

He leaned in for another kiss, before turning back to his desk, sighing at the bills still laid out in front of him.

* * *

-_A few hours later-_

"Why don't we?"

"Why don't we what?" Harry asked, still looking at his papers, confusion utterly evident on his face at the sheer magnitude of the numbers glaring back at him. Let it never be said that accounting was Harry's strong suit.

"Get married," came the soft reply.

Harry's head snapped up to stare at Draco. "What?" he whispered.

"I said, why don't we get married?" Draco asked, perfectly calm and serious.

Harry laughed. "That's funny, Draco, that really is. Get married; why, we've only been together for four months! We're only nineteen, for fuck's sake!" he continued to laugh, before cutting off abruptly as he realized that Draco wasn't laughing with him.

"Yes, I can count you know, I am very aware of the fact that we've only been official for four months," Draco snapped a bit, before his expression changed back to the seriousness it bore before. "And I realize that we're rather young, but so are Granger and the Weasel. Besides, time doesn't matter with us."

"Harry," Draco said, kneeling down at Harry's feet and cutting off whatever retort was about to escape the Gryffindor's lips. "I spent six years getting up every morning and eating breakfast across a hall from you. I've now spent a year eating breakfast across a table from you; sometimes across a mere bed from you. You have become part of my life, a much bigger part than I would have ever expected. We've spent so much time together, whether we were fighting or making love or any of the other exhilarating things we've experienced together. The point is, I can't imagine my life without you."

"Harry, my Harry," Draco whispered, raising his hand up to cradle Harry's cheek. "We belong together, plain and simple. We have something, something that no one else can ever have. We have each other. I am yours and you are mine. You're _mine_, Harry. I won't be letting you go. Now, please…won't you let me be yours?"

The next moment found them both on the floor, Harry straddling Draco's hips and kissing him furiously, hands roaming everywhere they could reach.

"Yes," Harry whispered against Draco's lips, before breaking away to look into clear grey eyes. "A thousand times, yes."

* * *

TBC. Please R/R. 


	14. Chapter 13: What Goes Around

-Chapter 13-

What Goes Around

December 9, 1999

"No! No! No!!!" Draco objected, staring in horror at the linens the assistant had picked out. "It's wrong, all wrong. Harry?! Harry, where are you?"

Harry groaned, his head falling into his hands. He had a killer headache and Draco's meltdowns over wedding plans wasn't helping. Hermione had wanted their opinion on her selection of wedding dress possibilities, and Draco had somehow managed to bring his entire arsenal of wedding planners with him, and _they_ had swatches of cloth in various colors so that he could continue deciding while Hermione was changing. And now, there was yet another problem with the selection. Before he could look up and see what was wrong this time, however, another shriek erupted from behind the curtains of the dressing room.

The curtains were ripped apart and Hermione came storming out of them, red in the face, hair a mess and tears in her eyes. The dress that she had so lovingly picked out, that sparkling strapless corseted stunner that had fit her like a glove and made her seem like a goddess descended from heaven…no longer fit.

"I…I don't understand," she sobbed into Harry's shoulder, not noticing when Harry made frantic hand motions at Draco to go and find Ron. "It was perfect! And now…now…oh my god, Harry, I'm _fat!_"

"What?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. "You're--you're not fat! How could you even--"

"Yes I am!" Hermione wailed. "The dress doesn't fit! It was _fine_ two weeks ago, and now this!"

"Well, maybe you just put it on wrong…" Harry offered, still trying to figure out what was wrong with the dress. As far as he could see, Hermione looked great. "Or you grabbed the wrong size by accident or--"

"Or maybe she's just pregnant," Draco said flippantly, still staring at two pieces of fabric that were _obviously_ completely different shades of white. "Now," he continued, obliviously turning back to a stunned Harry and Hermione, "which one do you like, Harry? The cream or the pearl?"

* * *

"You're _what?_"Ron sputtered unintelligently.

"I'm pregnant, Ron," Hermione said, biting her lip a bit and ducking her head before glancing at Harry and Draco for support.

For reasons unbeknownst to them, Hermione had insisted that they be there when she broke the news to Ron. Harry had looked supportive, but highly puzzled, when she asked, but Draco had simply nodded, dismissed the planners after selecting the cream fabric, and gestured for her to lead the way. Now they were in Harry and Draco's flat, holding hands and sitting on the couch as they watch Hermione told Ron she was expecting.

"You're pregnant?" Ron said slowly.

"Yes."

"You're absolutely positive?" Ron asked carefully.

"Yes. Ron, have you ever known me to be wrong about anything this important?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

"No. I haven't."

He looked at Hermione, face blank, before he broke into a grin that lit the room and leaped up, grabbing Hermione in his arms and spinning her around. His laughter filled the room, followed by her nervous giggles as her hair whipped around her head, which was now lowering to place a full kiss on Ron's lips.

Draco squeezed Harry's hand to get his attention and met the gentle smile that turned his way. "Guess they're going to have to move up the wedding, huh? Poor souls."

* * *

December 28, 1999

"No, you tell them that that is completely inaccurate!…I did _not_ buy hydrangeas! Who in Merlin's name wants _hydrangeas_ at their wedding?! No, I will not quiet down you half-witted prat!" Hermione yelled into the fire. "You have one week to fix this problem. One week, do you understand! Or else you will find yourself with considerably _less_ clients after the New Year!"

"I think Granger's a bit upset," Draco muttered to Harry.

"Shh," Harry and Ron shushed him. "Not so loud."

"But _Harry_," he whined. "You promised me dinner and a shag tonight, and all we've been doing so far is listen to Granger whine about _flowers_."

"What did you say, Draco Malfoy?" a harsh voice said behind him.

"Oh, now you've done it," Harry said while Ron groaned. "We'll be in the kitchen."

"You stay right there, Harry James Potter! Don't think I didn't hear you, too," Hermione snapped.

Then she turned to Ron. "Honey, would you mind getting me some chocolate pudding, please? I've got the most intense craving for cool chocolately goodness."

"Sure," Ron said, hightailing it out of the living room before Hermione could change her mind.

"Now," Hermione said, turning back to Draco, "you were saying something?"

"Nope. Not a word escaped my lips," Draco denied.

"Malfoy."

Draco tried not to wince. It was never a good thing when Hermione reverted to his last name, though he always referred to her with her surname…though that might have to change after the wedding the next week.

"Hermione, really, he didn't say anything. Now let's just go to dinner and have a good time, alright?" Harry intervened.

"No, Harry," Hermione said sharply. "I want to know what was so distressing to our fellow Slytherin here. Is he pregnant, a week away from the most important date of his life, with a dress that he finally got to perfection which turned out to be a disaster, a florist who is out of their fucking mind, and a fiancé who can't manage to fulfill the simple request of getting the love of his life some bleeding pudding!?!" She screamed the last part in the direction of the kitchen, eyes glinting a bit when a loud crash was consequently heard.

"Holy shite, Granger, what the fuck is your problem?" Draco asked, mad now. "I understand you've got hormones and other shite running around in your bloodstream, and that this is a stressful time, but guess what? I'm going through the same thing, since Harry has no idea what a wedding entails!"

"Hey!" Harry objected.

"You are _not_ going through the same thing, Malfoy. You aren't pregnant!" Hermione shrieked.

"What a wonderful comment Granger, glad to see that the raging hormones haven't affected your skills of observation, though they've left your figure with something to be desired. No wonder the Weasel is hurrying up the marriage, who wants to wed a whale?" Draco said nastily.

Stunned silence followed his remark. Hermione's eyes filled with tears, her hands unconsciously clutching at her protruding belly. Even Harry was looking at him with extreme disappointment and a faint trace of disgust. Then Draco's world exploded in pain as Ron came rushing in from the kitchen and punched him square in the jaw and landed him on his ass on the floor.

"You are getting the fuck out of my house," Ron snarled at Draco, arms protectively around Hermione, who had turned her face into his shoulder.

"Couldn't be sooner," Draco said, turning swiftly and walking out the door.

Harry sighed deeply and reluctantly met Ron's eyes. "I'm sorry." He winced at the look Ron gave him. "Take care of her." Harry dropped a kiss on Hermione's head and followed, embarrassment and anger fighting for dominance within him.

As soon as he reached the perimeter of the property, he Apparated back to his and Draco's flat, dreading the necessary confrontation he knew was coming. He walked through the door and headed toward the kitchen, where Draco was slamming around dishes and cutlery as he made himself a sandwich and took swig from a bottle of Ogden's Best Firewhiskey.

"What was that?" Harry demanded.

Draco ignored him.

"Hey!" Harry shouted. "I am talking to you, Draco Malfoy. The least you can do is _pretend_ to listen."

Draco spun to face him. The bruising around his jaw, punctuated by the rough swallows of alcohol, only helped the murderous look on his face.

"Well?" he asked, after Harry took a few moments before speaking again.

"What the hell was that in there?" Harry asked.

"_That_," Draco said around a mouthful of sandwich, "was a fight, between your boyfriend and your best friend."

"No, what that was," Harry corrected, "was my selfish git of a boyfriend being a complete arsehole to one of the most important people in my life, whom I know for a fact that you like as well!"

"Harry, she was off her rocker, and you weren't doing anything about it! So what if I got peeved? I had every right to!"

"She's pregnant, Draco, and she's going through hell with the wedding plans. The least you could do is be supportive!" Harry countered.

"Just because she's pregnant doesn't mean she automatically gets a jail out of free card!" Draco insisted. "Just because we aren't going to have kids anytime soon doesn't mean she's the bloody messiah or something."

Harry froze, staring at Draco in shock, not even taking in his further angry tirades.

"Are you telling me that you don't want children?" Harry asked, voice nearly a whisper.

"No, can't you bloody listen? I'm telling you that I don't want children _now!_"

"When do you want them, then?"

"How the _fuck_ should I know?" Draco screamed, completed exasperated and continually taking swigs from the bottle of whiskey.

"Well, we should have a plan for when we do want them, because if we're going to be pregnant--" Harry started.

"We can't get pregnant, you imbecile," Draco interrupted.

"It's an _expression_, Draco!"

"Well, I don't like it, because I _can't_ get pregnant you bloody idiot! So if you want kids that are your own, you'd best go back to the Weaselette, because I refuse to share and I can't get pregnant, because _I am not a girl!_" Draco yelled, stalking away and Apparating as soon as he was past the front door, bottle of Firewhiskey still in hand.

Harry stood motionless in the kitchen, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

* * *

January 5, 2000

Harry stood in front of the mirror, trying to flatten his hair and adjust his robes at the same time. So far, he was feeling very uneasy about the whole 'best man' business. His speech was surely too soppy and romantic, his argument with Draco getting the better of him and ruining his concentration while writing. Hermione and Ron were still a bit miffed, but hadn't uninvited Draco to the wedding and reception, so Harry assumed that they were getting over it.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for him and Draco. It had been a week, and he still hadn't figured out what went wrong once they had returned home. Draco hadn't come back from Snape's house on Spinner's End, where he had refused to see Harry or answer his owls. They would both be at the wedding, though, so there would be no escaping the inevitable confrontation.

Harry was determined to resolve this by the end of the night, whether Draco wanted to or not.

* * *

"I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Ronald and Hermione Weasley!" Harry shouted, one of his only genuine smiles of the night lighting up his face as he watched his two best friends enter the room.

The ceremony had been wonderful, the flowers living up to Hermione's demands, and the vows heartbreakingly beautiful. The illusion of white doves flew up overhead and into the setting sun, as Ron and Hermione settled onto the dance floor and began their first dance as husband and wife. As the music started up and the couple swayed to its tune, Harry took advantage of his seat at the front table and searched for Draco's distinctive blonde hair. Once he finally located his fiancé, however, Draco was walking out of the room with Professor Snape, the both of them deeply engrossed in conversation. By the time Harry made it through the throng of people to the back exit where Snape and Draco had departed to, they were nowhere in sight. Harry sighed miserably, before turning back in to the reception. After all, he had a speech to give.

"We have traveled and experienced so much, but there is only one truth that I have learned through all of it. As long as we have love beside us, then we can endure anything. For in the end--"

Harry cut himself off abruptly as Draco walked back into the room and stood in the back of the crowd. There eyes met for a moment, for the first time in over a week, and Harry couldn't help the shudder that ran through him in that split second. Dragging his gaze back to Ron and Hermione as they waited patiently for him to continue, he cleared his throat, smiled, and resumed his speech.

"…for in the end, it is love that defines us, love that shelters us, love that guides us, and love that gives us hope. Love is all around us. We need only open our eyes and our hearts, and we will receive its warmth."

Harry raised his flute of champagne, and smiled broadly at the room, carefully not looking in Draco's direction. "To Ron and Hermione, the best example we have of love and all its magic. For love is the true magic of this world."

"Hear, hear!" a voice that sounded like a drunken Seamus Finnegan shouted, which lead to many boisterous voices joining his in celebration. "Ron and Hermione!"

Ron blushed horribly at the attention, and Hermione smiled prettily before turning her face into Ron's shoulder. It seemed that shyness would always be a quality they would share. Harry smiled at their happiness, before he quietly turned toward the exit where Draco was lingering. A few strides later, and he was so close to his lover he could feel his body singing, aching to reach out and touch him. He held himself back, however, and stopped a hair's breadth away.

They stared at each other, both filled with so much to say and no idea of how to say it. It didn't help that neither wanted to be the first to speak, either. Finally Harry sighed roughly, running his hand through his once tamed hair. "This is so stupid," he griped.

Draco immediately stiffened. "Fine then," he spat, turning and walking away.

"No! Wait!" Harry said, reaching out and grabbing Draco's arm and halting his progress. As soon as he realized he had touched him, Harry pulled back as if he had been burned. Though judging by the look Draco was giving him, he wasn't so certain he hadn't been.

"I--I didn't mean it like that," Harry tried again before Draco could leave. "I just meant that one of us should start, that's all."

"Okay," Draco said, uncharacteristically putting his hands in his pockets as leaned back against the wall.

There was another few moments of silence before they both started at the same time.

"Look, I'm sorry--"

"I've missed you--"

"Really?" Harry asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yes," Draco said, looking at the floor before meeting Harry's gaze. "I'd forgotten what it was like, waking up alone in bed…I didn't like it."

"Me neither," Harry said, trying and failing to repress a smile. The silence continued for a while, before breaking again.

"I'm sorry I was being a prat to Hermione," Draco said in a rush, almost as if he wouldn't be able to get it out if he went any slower.

"I'm sorry about that too, and about the kids thing…but I really do want them," Harry said looking at the floor.

"Harry, so do I!" Draco exclaimed, closing the distance between them. He grasped Harry's upper arms tightly as he said, "I _do_ want children, Harry. And I want them with you. I just don't want to think about it _right now_. For Merlin's sake, we're going to live for another hundred years! I want time with just you first. We can always have children, I just don't want them this minute. Is that so wrong?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "My parents were young, and Muggles don't live as long, so I just always thought…"

"Yes, well, I like to think there's a bit of a difference between us and your parents, no matter how many people insist you're the spitting image of James," Draco said. "And Harry," he added softly, "no matter how you were raised, you are far from a Muggle."

Harry nodded, still looking down. Draco pulled him closer, so they were pressed together, and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. Smiling slightly as Harry melted into him, he used his free hand to gently lift up Harry's chin so that their eyes met.

"Are we okay now?" he asked softly.

Harry smiled slightly, nodding. "Yeah. We're okay."

"Good," Draco said, brushing his lips softly over Harry's, their mouths barely even touching.

"Good."

* * *

June 21, 2000

"Draco, stop fussing. You look wonderful."

Draco turned away from the mirror, his wedding robes twirling gently around him as he faced Hermione. Even eight months pregnant, she looked gorgeous in her soft blue robes, only emphasizing her new curves. Draco smiled, a sense of joy washing over him. It didn't matter that most of his Slytherin friends were gone, and the only ones who had come were probably only there because a pureblood was marrying the most famous half-blood of the generation.

"One can always look better, Granger. Remember that," he advised, grinning.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Uhuh. So - we all ready?"

He turned to face the mirror one last time. "As ready as I'll ever be." Draco straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that he had unconsciously picked up from Harry, then gave himself a sharp nod.

"Well, let's make a more honest man out of me."

* * *

Draco's hidden anxiety continued throughout waiting for Harry to appear and the ceremony to start. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong, but he just chalked it up to cold feet about the wedding. The only odd thing with the theory was that he had been completely enraptured with the idea of marrying Harry; in fact, he still was. And yet, he couldn't shake the ominous fog that seemed to be hovering on the edge of his subconscious.

A murmur brought his attention back to the present, and all worries seemed to fade as he caught a glimpse of Harry's face. Harry was so alight with joy, such blissful calm and certainty on his face; Draco couldn't help but get swept up in the emotions that poured from Harry's very being. A smile alighted the blonde's face, and he grasped Harry's hand tightly in his own, softly rubbing his thumb in circles as he calmly listened to Remus' words.

Everything had changed once he learned of his heritage, of his father's deception, and Voldemort's own hypocrisy. Once he had spent time in Spain, he had thought that nothing else could matter to him as much as his family and his own sense of loyalty had.

Then Harry had come, and Draco had found something; something that captured his attention and sparked an interest in a way that nothing else had in so long a time, that he had thought the feeling long gone. He had changed, in so many ways, and he looked back on his Hogwarts days and on his life before, and they paled in comparison to the joy he now felt at being loved, at being wanted, unconditionally. Before, there had always been conditions to being loved and praised, and even then it seemed forced. Harry was different. Draco didn't long to hear a kind word or thought from Harry, because he was showered with affection at every turn. At least when they weren't fighting, that is. Part of the fire between them were the utterly ridiculous fights that they would get into, reminiscent of their time at school. Draco always opined, however, that though they always fought, it did give them an excellent reason for gritty, sweaty make up sex. Harry always got slightly glass-eyed and adjusted his collar whenever Draco made that particular observation.

Draco turned his attention back to Remus, concentrating on what the man was saying and counting down to when he could finally kiss Harry and the Weasel wouldn't be able to say anything about it.

Suddenly, a pain erupted in a familiar spot on his side. He gripped Harry's hands tightly, silently pleading that the pain was a hallucination and would go away. He was not so lucky. The pain intensified, and Draco struggled to stand, before finally falling to the ground at Harry's feet. He tried to block out the pain, listen to what Harry was saying as he stroked his sweaty forehead, pay attention to Hermione's spell casting, but nothing existed outside the pain. Draco mumbled under his breath, words of love, words of vengeance, words of delirium. He could feel his wings twitching underneath his skin, the itch growing almost as strong as the pain on his side. He had felt these feelings once before, when a certain crazed witch had performed a dark ritual with the aide of…

Draco flashed back to his time spent trapped underground with Harry, and a dark figure with a cold voice loomed in front of his view. Who had been that man? They had been so concentrated on Harry's recovery, on explaining Gwen's insanity, that they had never remembered her partner…and no one else had ever questioned it either. Why hadn't they been able to _remember_?

Draco felt Harry go limp beneath him. He panicked slightly and looked to Hermione as she chanted healing spells above him. He tried to speak, and failed. Was Harry alright? Did something happen to him, too? Hermione was a smart girl; did she see some dark, cloaked, entirely conspicuous figure lurking about?

_You idiot! _Draco told himself. _Of course she doesn't see anyone, she's looking at you! Bollocks. _

He tried to speak again, and managed to emit a sort of grunt, before Hermione probed him with her wand one more time, and the pain grew too much. Just as he felt the darkness creep upon him, he thought he saw the Weasel waving his gawky arms around stupidly and pointing in a most idiotic fashion towards the lake.

* * *

TBC.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading this chapter of our story, and I do apologize for the impromptu sabbatical, but I hope it hasn't dettered interest in the tale. Life if back on track for me, and the good news is, that almost the entirety of the next, and hopefully last, chapter is completed, so it should be up within the next couple of weeks. Thanks again, please review, and I hope everyone has a good Halloween! Luna 


	15. Chapter 14: Remembrance

-Chapter 14-

Remembrance

June 22, 2000

_It's bloody early_, Harry thought, the sun streaming into his eyes. From the hardness of the bed and stiffness of the cotton sheets against his skin, Harry guessed he was in Hogwarts infirmary. _Gee, what else is new? _

Harry squirmed a bit, trying to get more comfortable, which was looking like an impossibility at that point. He had just managed to find a mildly acceptable arrangement, when his eyes snapped open and he jerked up into a sitting position.

"Draco?" he called. Harry searched the room trying to find the blonde, with no luck. "Draco?" he tried again, louder this time. "Draco! Draco!!"

"Harry, shrieking like a little mousy girl won't help the situation. Haven't I taught you anything in all this time?"

Harry's gaze went to the doorway, relief flooding through him. "Draco," he breathed. Then he got a better look at the Slytherin.

Draco was pale, dark purple circles under his eyes and a scratch on his left cheek. He was wearing standard hospital pajamas, which did nothing to hide the bulk of the bandages around his torso. Now that Harry stopped to think, Draco's voice had been hoarse, as if he had a sore throat. The events of the previous night flashed once more in Harry's mind, and he was more worried than ever.

"What happened? Oh my god, are you alright? Why--why--why can't I move my legs?" Harry trailed off, staring down at his immobile lower body. His attempt to rush to Draco's side had been fruitless.

"You're fine, Harry," Draco soothed. "Madame Pomfrey gave you a really powerful potion to sedate you. It will wear off in a few hours, but for now, you won't be able to move much."

"Will you come here then, please?"

Draco shook his head. "Can't."

"What? What are you talking--" Harry started, but stopped once he saw Draco tighten his lips and shake his head again.

"Harry…I can't."

Harry looked closer for a second time, and he saw what he had missed before. Draco wasn't standing in the doorway. He was _leaning_ against it, the grip of his hand on the wooden frame turning his knuckles white.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

Draco shook his head again. "It's nothing Harry…"

"The hell it is!" Harry interrupted. "What's wrong? What the fuck happened out there?"

"Now, just calm down, you're going to--" Draco was interrupted by Harry struggling furiously to get out of his bed without using his legs, which ended up pitching him to the cold infirmary floor, "--fall and hurt yourself," Draco finished, sighing as Harry looked up at him indignantly from his lowered position, hair sticking up in all directions and murder in his eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, you get your ass over here and explain things!"

Draco sighed again resignedly, before slowly making his way over to Harry's bed. When Harry saw Draco's slow, painful steps, his expression softened, and he rolled himself onto his stomach so that he could crawl his way over to his lover. With both of their efforts, they finally came together in the middle of the room, and Harry immediately dragged Draco down to the floor and wrapped his arms tightly around the blonde.

They sat on the floor together, wrapped securely in each others arms for several long moments, taking in the feel of each other's touch once more. Harry had buried his face into Draco's neck, so the words he spoke next were soft and muffled.

"Hmm?" Draco asked, stroking Harry's back lightly.

Harry pulled back a fraction of an inch. "I was --- I was afraid I'd lost you."

"I'm right here, Harry. I'm right here."

* * *

Ten minutes later Harry and Draco hadn't moved from their position on the floor.

"I don't suppose they'll be uncoupling any time soon?" Ron asked tiredly.

"No. Probably not," Hermione answered, absently rubbing her belly.

"Right."

Ron sighed loudly before leaning up against the wall outside the door of Harry's private infirmary room. After a few moments, he felt Hermione turn into him and lean her head upon his shoulder. He smiled slightly, wrapping his arm around her tightly, and got ready to wait.

* * *

"Draco?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What happened out there?" he asked, turning his face further into Draco's shoulder as they lay upon the hospital bed. Harry sighed contentedly as he felt Draco's arms tighten around him.

"Are you sure you're up for this now?" the blonde questioned.

"Yes. I need to know."

"Alright." Draco paused a moment before continuing. "Lupin was in the middle of speaking when I felt my side flare up, same as it did when it had first been cut. Gods, Harry, I felt like she was standing over me, sticking that dagger into me all over again." He shuddered slightly, pulling himself out of his memory before he continued. "You held me up, put me on the grass, and then Granger was there, trying every goddamn healing spell in the book. I tried to talk, tell her what I knew, but nothing would come out. Just before I blacked out from…from the pain…Ronald started shrieking excitedly and pointing towards the lake. The last thing I saw was Hermione glancing up and then," he shrugged, "I was waking up in the middle of the lawn in front of Hogwarts, wings expanded and curled around me, and Lupin hovering over me and asking if I could speak. Then--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Harry interrupted, lifting his head so he could look at Draco's face. "Did you just call Ron something other than 'The Weasel'?"

"I--" Draco blanched at Harry's incredulous but eager grin. "Yes, alright, I called Weasley 'Ronald.' After someone saves your life, formalities tend to fall away."

"_Ron_ saved you? But you were just talking about Hermione and Remus and--" Harry voiced, surprised.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Harry!" came Ron's voice from the hallway.

Harry and Draco looked to the open doorway to see Ron standing there grinning, before a very pregnant Hermione waddled over, yanked him away and shut the door, chastising him about how the boys needed their privacy and he could tease Harry as much as he liked later, once Harry knew all the facts.

As soon as the door was shut and the sounds of Ron and Hermione's bickering faded into the distance, Harry and Draco burst into loud, joyous laughter. The relief the humor gave them had never felt so good.

"No matter what his name is, the entertainment value shall never fade!" Draco managed to get out in between laughs. They calmed down soon enough, Harry settling back once again into Draco's side and Draco running his fingers lightly up and down Harry's back.

"Lupin was over me, asking me these questions," Draco began again, "when Ronald shoved his way forward and placed a vial in my lap, telling me to drink it immediately."

"Did you?" Harry asked when Draco paused.

"Of course not! What do you take me for, a complete imbecile? One of the ginger boys had offered me an unknown substance and was encouraging me to drink it, while I was confused and concussed and had a downright bloody headache. Not to mention the gaping wound in my side! Did you think I'd forgotten Weasley Wizard Wheezes?"

"…Maybe…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sure, Harry. Anyways, I was trying to refuse the abominable substance, when without further ado, Ronald took the vial, opened my mouth, and poured its contents straight down my throat. He wouldn't even let me breath, the bastard, until I had swallowed every drop!…Harry, you're being very quiet."

"Well, I know you haven't killed him yet, so that's something," Harry muttered. "What did you do? Give him smallpox? Make him eat slugs again? Hex his testicles off?"

"I landed a good sucker punch," Draco said pleasantly, ignoring the half-hearted smack Harry delivered to his arm. "I only hit him once before I realized that my wound had healed up, my wings weren't hurting, and other than having the energy sucked out of me, I was fine," he added, before Harry could protest.

"You sure you're fine?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I'm very well. Still suffering from energy lapses, but that will clear up in the next few hours," Draco reassured him. "Ronald's potion seemed to do the trick."

"Where did he get this potion?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Ron's absolutely bollocks at Potions."

"Well, it appears that when a blood ritual goes sour, everyone involved must be accounted for or else there will be repercussions. Unfortunately for us, a failsafe had been implemented by a certain individual, someone close to you and to your family, so that if something went wrong, if Guinevere failed, we wouldn't remember that extra person. So they could carry on whatever life they had been leading beforehand; before sadistic torture and world domination became their new favorite hobby, that is. Ronald figured out who it was."

"…Ron?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Solved the riddle."

"Indeed."

"He managed to beat Hermione at something other than chess?…Alright, Ron!"

"Always knew he was a smart one, that lad," Draco said loftily.

"Oh, quiet you!" Harry griped. "Get on with what happened, you've danced around the issue long enough. Who was it?"

Draco paused a moment. "Do you remember Professor Mallory's second at the duel last year?"

Harry nodded in response.

"And the person who lead us down the corridor and oh so kindly tortured me first?"

A moment of hesitation, before a light went off and another nod occurred.

"Do you remember power hungry, Fudge-loving, incompetent following, only smart when it comes to books and rule abiding, blood traitor Percival Weasley?"

Harry froze. "Tell me you're joking."

Draco grimaced. "Not in the slightest."

Harry slumped completely against the bed, all energy draining from him in rapid succession.

"Percy?"

Draco nodded.

"How?….Why? I thought he was better after Fudge was gone…" Harry trailed off.

"That's like saying Pettigrew was better after you defeated Voldemort the first time," Draco said. "Percy wanted power, and he thought that under Fudge he would get it. But then you came along, defeated Voldemort, and showed what an incompetent ass Fudge, and later Scrimgeour, was. The people's confidence in the Ministry, in the officials who governed our world, was at an all time low. The only thing people had faith in was Hogwarts; and you, of course. And since you weren't about to welcome Percy with open arms, he set out trying to find another powerful person to suck up to. Enter Guinevere; she convinced him of a better world, where he could be respected instead of ridiculed. By that time, he was so into the bottle that she probably could've talked him into anything, and all he would have wanted in return was another bottle of Firewhiskey. So he cast a glamour to change his appearance, indulged in the Dark Arts, and became her ally. But he messed up. He cast a spell on a family member, and didn't cover up his magical signature, thinking it wouldn't be noticed. But the spell wore off after awhile, and someone did notice."

"What did he do?"

"Cast a Confundus charm, and then a memory spell on Mrs. Weasley," Draco replied. "Made her think that she had talked to us on New Year's Eve, that we weren't coming. That's why no one went looking for us immediately; they didn't even realize we were missing at first. And no one remembered what happened, because of the failsafe he implemented. We didn't forget really -- Percy's not _that_ powerful -- but he managed to tuck it away behind our other memories so that whenever we thought back upon that time, we would almost pass over our memory of him and focus only on Guinevere. And it worked; he remained undiscovered, until the little stunt he pulled during the wedding when he tried to re-open the connection and complete the blood ritual...Idiot."

"So he was trying to kill you and suck out your power again?" Harry asked dangerously.

"Pretty much," Draco said. "When he tried to do that, his spell started to wear off. I started to remember him, and so did someone else: your favorite redhead. So Ronald looked around the party, didn't see Percy which isn't really a shock seeing as we didn't invite him, but then checked out the lake, and who should he find? Percy Weasley under his glamour, but wearing a very distinct jumper underneath his ratty old cloak, casting hexes not quite inconspicuously enough to fool even Ronald. I suppose even 'criminal masterminds' slip up….Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry didn't pause in removing himself from Draco's grip and getting slowly off the bed.

"Oh, nothing. Just going hunting."

"For?"

"Idiotic traitors with certain psychotic proclivities. Nothing to worry about, I'll be back in a wink. Where are the aurors holding him?" Harry asked nonchalantly as he painstakingly made his way to the door.

"Harry! You're being ridiculous, come back here!" Draco called.

"Boys, are you done yet?" Hermione asked, popping her head into the room. "Harry! What are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm going to go kill Percy," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Well, you're going to have to wait a long while in line. Draco's already called first dibs, followed closely by me and the Dementors of Azkaban," Hermione replied, placing herself in the doorway so that when Harry eventually made his way over he was confronted with his very pregnant best friend.

"Hermione, please move," Harry said.

"No."

"Move."

"No."

"Goddamn you, Hermione! If you don't move away from that door in the next two seconds, so help me, I will--" Harry ranted, before he suddenly took a couple of deep, short breaths. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling and he crumpled down to the hospital floor.

There was a moment of silence before a flurry of activity took over the room and simultaneous shouts of "Harry!" could be heard all the way down in the Great Hall. Draco made his way over to Harry as quickly as he could while Hermione waddled off to find Madame Pomfrey. He was lightly slapping Harry's cheek while muttering under his breath about Gryffindors and hero complexes when Hermione, Ron and Madame Pomfrey came into the room, just as Harry stirred back to consciousness.

"Wha' happened?" he muttered.

"That's what I would like to know, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said sternly, examining Harry quickly before nodding her satisfaction that he was alright, and turning her gaze on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, I specifically told you to keep him calm and that any excitable behavior would be detrimental to his recovery!"

"He wanted to know what happened and once he did his stupid hero complex kicked in! What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?" Draco demanded.

"No, but one would think that you'd have the sense to restrain him," Madame Pomfrey retorted hands on her hips. She gave Harry another once over glance, poured a last potion down his throat, and then recommended large amounts of bed-rest for a full recovery. When her advice was met with the all too familiar Potter smile, half apologetic and half annoyed at the outcome, she tutted fondly and exited the room. The others looked intently at Harry as he watched the med witch exit. After a few moments, he noticed their stares.

"What?" he asked, growing even more confused when they rolled their eyes, and Ron and Hermione left the room, leaving Harry with a Draco who had suddenly become very fond of cuddling.

"_What?"

* * *

_

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me something?"

Harry turned to look at Draco for a moment before turning back to reading up on Healing Potions. For once, he really wanted to know what it was that kept on getting shoved down his throat by the toughest Mediwitch in existence. After the earlier scare, Draco hadn't let Harry out of his sight, extracting multiple promises that Harry wouldn't leave and strain himself any time it became absolutely necessary for Draco to leave the room.

"Yes, Draco, I promise I won't leave the second you're gone and go kill Percy. Go ahead and go to the loo, or whatever."

"It's not that."

"Oh." Harry turned back to Draco. "What is it then?"

"…Promise me you won't go after Percy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco, I just said that--"

Draco interrupted, "No, I mean…ever. I don't want you to go after him even after you're well."

Harry stared. "Why not?!"

"Please, Harry, I just-- The Wizengamot will take care of it. He'll be found guilty, there's not a question in anyone's mind that he'd be otherwise. Our entire wedding party saw him at the lake! It's just that I know how you get, Harry, and I don't want this to be a burden on you."

"What do you mean you know how I get?"

"You're going to turn this into a hero thing, Harry," Draco said quietly, avoiding the green eyes he knew were pinning their stare on him. "You're going to want to go after him personally, and you have every right to. Merlin, I want to get the son of a bitch, and I know it's the same for you. But, you're different Harry. Percy's a Weasley. He's family; no matter what he's done….he's still family. And you can't hurt him without tearing yourself apart."

Harry was quiet.

"I know how hard it will be, to try and let it go. But I can't let you be a murderer, Harry, and don't you dare say that you already are!" Draco said quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth to protest. "Killing Voldemort wasn't an act of murder; it was a reprieve, so that the rest of the world could live. And that Gwen bitch, well, she killed herself, really. You had nothing to do with that. Nothing. So I can't let you have anything to do with this. I'm sorry, but it's true…Please, Harry, please. Promise me you won't destroy yourself over something as worthless as Percy Weasley."

Harry took a few deep breaths, before looking up at Draco, the tears threatening to spill down.

"Alright. I promise."

Draco let out a shaky breath and reached for Harry, pulling him into his arms. "Thank you. Thank you."

They sat together for a moment, taking in the comfort allotted. After a minute Draco spoke again softly.

"Harry, I hope you can forgive me for asking this of you. Please, forgive me."

Harry pulled back so he could look Draco in the eye as he shook his head and smiled softly at the blonde.

"There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

July 10, 2000

Percy Weasley snapped his eyes open. The first thing he saw was darkness, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out the cracks in the ceiling of his holding cell. He had been caught, by a family member no less, and it was sheer force of will that kept him together now. He refused to give in to the lunacy around him. Percy wasn't a criminal! No, no, he was a wizard with a vision, and the rest of the wizarding world was simply too stupid to see that.

Percy listened to the steady drip of water pouring from the sink in the corner. He was to be executed today, or as good as. The Dementor's were coming. He was to receive the Kiss. He had been found guilty by the Wizengamot of attempted murder, kidnapping, conspiracy to take over the wizarding world, and some other nameless trumped up charges that the Minister no doubt made up at Harry Potter's request. Just as the trial had been speed up, to accommodate Potter's honeymoon with his new husband now that they were back to full health.

"Hmph," Percy snorted. "Harry Potter. Savior of the wizarding world. What a bunch of shit."

"Oh, I don't know. I think Harry's done rather well for himself, all things considered."

Percy whipped his head around, twisting on his hard prison bed and seeing a figure sitting in darkness on the opposite side of the bars.

"Hello, Weasley," Malfoy grinned. The shadows across his face from the dark lighting of the room did nothing to allay Percy's fears as the blonde looked on maniacally.

"Malfoy," Percy managed to get out, carefully eyeing Malfoy's wand which rested lightly in the man's right hand. "What--what are you doing here?"

"Tying up some loose ends."

Percy gulped involuntarily. "Oh…really."

"Indeed."

There was silence for some moments. Just as Percy opened his mouth, Malfoy spoke.

"How much do you think you know about the Dark Arts, Weasley?" he asked casually.

Percy didn't reply.

"A fair amount, I'd say. After all, _Crucio _isn't the easiest spell in the lexicon. Loads of preparation required and all of that rubbish, according to the books at least. Though, I'll let you in on a little secret," Draco lowered his voice, forcing Percy to lean closer to hear the blonde's softly spoken words, "you really don't have to be good at the Dark Arts to cast _Crucio_. You don't have to be good at a lot, really, you just have to be able to do one thing. _Hate_."

"You have to be able to hate the person you're cursing with every fiber of your soul in order for that spell to work. You have to _want_ to cause them pain, death, torture of all the unspeakable kinds. And I'll let you in on another little secret, Weasley: you can't hate someone, without having a damn good reason for it." Draco leaned back, watching the effect his words were having on Percy.

He was sweating, a little. If he bothered to look down, he would notice that his hands were grasping his flimsy cotton sheets so tightly that the knuckles were turning white. But Percy didn't look down. He stared straight ahead, as Draco continued to talk.

"But when you hate someone so much it makes your blood boil just looking at them, well, _Crucio_ just isn't good enough anymore, is it? You want _their_ blood to boil. _Their_ bones to freeze and shatter within their bodies. It's _their_ skin that you want stripped off into little pieces, section by section, until you could make a whole other body with all of that skin…Did you know that there were spells like that, Weasley? Spells that could render a man in two with just one flick of the wand and a few murmured syllables?" Draco asked companionably.

Percy shook his violently, still staring straight ahead. "N-no."

"Oh. Good. Well, I guess you really don't know that much about the Dark Arts after all do you? Because those were just some of the spells my father taught me _before_ I went to Hogwarts--Weasley, do stop shaking," Draco sighed tiredly. "We are pureblood wizards who can trace our ancestry back hundreds of years. We have the bloodlines of wizarding kings! Cowardice does not become us. You must face your fear."

Percy was under the sneaking suspicion that he was about to vomit forcefully all over the floor.

"Before you do though, let me just fill you in on a little something," Draco said softly. "You, Percy Weasley, are a piece of vermin. You are lower than the most disgusting piece of filth to have ever walked the earth. I wish I could kill you a thousand times each night, and when the sun rose you would feel the pain of those deaths over and over again until I came back with the setting sun to deliver new pain and torture to your worthless body. You tried to kill me. You tried to kill Harry. You tortured us. You tried to suck the magic from our very bodies, and that, is perhaps the greatest offense of all. We _are_ magic, you little twit, don't you understand that? Somewhere in the back of your twisted mind, I know some of the Pureblood teachings must still be there, so you should have _known_ that to take a wizard's magic from him is a fate worse than death. I venture to say it might even be worse than the Dementor's Kiss. We are wizards, we are defined by our magic, and it runs freely through us and gives us life. That's why Muggles will never be able to understand us. They could never know what it's like to feel magic running through your veins, making your blood sing and your heart race. And they could also never imagine what it would feel like to have all that beautiful power stripped away; to be left bereft and defenseless and alone. But you will. You will know exactly what that feels like. Isn't that wonderful, Weasley? You will know exactly what it feels like to lose a part of yourself, just like I had felt when I thought you had taken away something that was a part of me."

Percy sat frozen in horror as Draco lifted his wand and pointed it straight at him.

"Goodbye, Weasley. Let's never meet again."

* * *

"Draco? Is that you?" Harry called from his position, sitting up against the headboard of his and Draco's bed as he heard the front door open and close. He looked up from his book as Draco entered the room, the blonde looking like Christmas morning. He caught sight of Harry, strode over and straddled the brunette's lap as he claimed his lips in a kiss. Harry accepted the affection easily, letting Draco continue until the blonde finally broke away and rested his head on Harry's forehead.

"That was nice," Harry said softly, smiling as Draco chuckled. "What's the occasion?"

Draco shrugged. "We're newlyweds. Isn't that reason enough?"

Harry laughed. "I guess so."

They sat there smiling at each other for a few long moments, before Draco grinned and got off of Harry, pulling the Gryffindor along with him.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

The blonde reached into the wardrobe and pulled out two warm cloaks, handing one to Harry before draping the other across his shoulders. He led Harry into the living room before picking up the small figurine of a dancing faerie that was resting on the mantel over the fireplace.

"Portkey," Draco explained, smiling at slightly at Harry's unenthusiastic expression. "I know you hate them, but we can't Apparate there. Just hold on, it's a verbal cue."

Harry placed his hand with Draco's, grasping the faerie tightly.

"Alright, on three. One, two, three. _Cape_--"

"Harry! Draco!"

Draco stopped quickly as Ron's head made a surprise appearance in the fireplace.

"Ronald, now isn't exactly the best time--"

"Draco, shut up," Harry said softly. Draco was insulted for a second, before seeing the look on Harry's face. "Ron, what is it?"

"It's Hermione," Ron said, looking as if might fall apart at any moment he was so nervous. "She's gone into labor."

There was a stunned silence.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Draco declared, shoving Harry slightly. "Off to St. Mungo's!"

"Yes, of course," Harry said, coming back to awareness. "We'll see you there, Ron."

The redhead nodded in acknowledgement before he disappeared from sight. Harry turned to look at Draco, wide-eyed.

"This is really it. My best friends are having a baby!"

"Pah! Don't look so shocked, Harry. Babies happen all the time. Great fun, really, making babies. And then once they're born you get to raise them and mold them and shape them into---"

"Draco, are you rubbing your hands together?"

"Of course not, Harry!" Draco denied. "Honestly, I don't know where you get these things. Come on! We have to hurry if we're going to run our errand before going to St. Mungo's."

"But you just said--" Harry protested.

"Harry, even though babies happen all the time, they really aren't born all that quickly, if you know what I mean," Draco said. "So just give me ten minutes, and then you'll be by Granger's side, alright?"

"But--"

"Please?"

Harry hesitated, before sighing and reaching out for the portkey once more. "Yeah, alright. But only ten minutes. No more than that."

"On my honor as a Malfoy," Draco smirked. "I only ask for the next ten minutes. _Capella_."

* * *

They landed with a jolt, Draco catching Harry before he fell to the ground.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. Where are we?" Harry questioned.

"You'll find out soon enough." Draco grinned quickly, before grasping Harry's hand lightly in his and pulling the other man up the grassy slope.

Harry looked around as they trekked the hill, trying to recognize the trees and buildings in the darkness. The only light came from the full moon up somewhere to his left, and it cast an ethereal glow on the landscape. Wherever they were, it was beautiful.

A few more seconds and Draco stopped, just before they were to pass over the top of the largest hill and see the valley below. He turned to Harry, a nervous smile on his face.

"I've accepted a position," he said.

Harry stared for a minute, confused. "That's what you wanted to tell me? That you got a job?…Not that it's not great or anything," Harry amended quickly at Draco's expression. "But it's not like you need the money. Neither of us does, really."

"Yes, we're both fabulously wealthy thanks to those wonderful inheritances from the family treasury. There's no need for us to do anything besides lounge about all day and order the house elves around for the rest of our lives….and doesn't that sound like the most boring piece of shit on the face of the earth?"

"Well, I…just a bit," Harry admitted, smiling.

"Then we're agreed! A job would occupy our time and give us something to do. Something worthwhile."

"I don't know," Harry grinned suddenly, pulling Draco closer against him. "I can think of some pretty worthwhile things that don't involve other people." He nipped lightly at Draco's ear.

"Yes, well, you're getting off the point," Draco said, reluctantly pulling away from Harry's talented mouth. "The point is that I've already agreed to accept a job, but it was contingent that they offer you one as well. And they have, quite eagerly I must say."

"They have? Who?" Harry asked blankly.

Draco avoided the question. "Harry, two years ago in the Three Broomsticks you didn't know what you wanted to do with your life, right?"

"Yes…"

"You had all these amazing offers for professional Quidditch or working as an Auror, but nothing felt right, correct?"

"Yes…"

"Don't you see, Harry? It's because nothing felt like _home_ to you. You wanted to do something that gave you fulfillment, something that would capture your interest forever as you shared the wonderful knowledge and experiences that you have yourself with others. Don't you see? You wanted to come home."

"But Draco, our home is in Hogsmeade. We just got it remodeled and fixed after the explosion. Why would I want to--" Harry asked, confused.

"Harry, did you never wonder why you got a flat in Hogsmeade instead of Wizarding London? Or Godric's Hollow? Or another wizarding town? You picked Hogsmeade, unconsciously or not, and I think that your mind was trying to tell you something," Draco said.

"Okay, Mr. I know absolutely everything about Harry Potter, what was it trying to tell me?"

"It was telling you to come home," Draco repeated, before he tugged Harry up the remainder of the hill.

They climbed over and Harry stopped, unable to believe what he was witnessing. They were looking down on the Hogwarts grounds, and the in the lake there were mermaids bathing in the moonlight. Fireflies were dancing around them, their light creating constellations and heavenly patterns here on earth. The full moon shone brightly in the sky, casting a glow over everything in sight. The world was silent save for the wind in the trees, the gurgling laughter of the mermaids as they jumped in and out of the water in some sort of racing game, and the gentle breathing of Draco beside him. Even on the night of his wedding, Harry had not seen Hogwarts so beautiful and so at peace.

"They only come out of the water like that once every five years," Draco murmured. "It's to celebrate the coming of age of their young. When they do come out all of nature seems to glow for them, don't you think?"

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Severus hasn't been doing very well, Harry," Draco said quietly after a few moments. "He's kept the nature of most of his injuries from the Final Battle pretty private, but it's becoming less and less easier for him to do so. And the students…" Draco sighed. "He cares for them, but it's putting a lot of strain on him, to both teach full days worth of classes and supply as many potions as he does. Especially while trying to maintain a congenial manner."

Harry would have raised his eyebrow at the last comment if Draco had not sounded so sad for his mentor.

"McGonagall's offered you his position then," Harry said.

"Almost. I'll be his apprentice since I'm not a Potions Master yet. But I'll take over the lower level classes under his guidance, and then once I've earned the title of Potions Master I'll be allowed to teach the 6th and 7th year students as well. We'll teach jointly for a while, with me taking care of the lower years and him still supplying potions for Madame Pomfrey and the like. And then he'll retreat back to his solitude and brew his potions as he chooses."

"And me?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Honestly, Harry. Do you think there'd be a more perfect Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts than yourself?"

"Well, I--"

"You excelled in the dueling club, fought off a hundred Dementors with one Patronus charm, were a Triwizard Champion, snuck into the Department of Mysteries to take out several Death Eaters; you started your own underground society to teach what your classmates weren't learning in, hmmm, what was that class again? Oh, yes, Defense Against the Dark Arts. And did I mention the numerous times you've fought off the Dark Lord, and all that you did during the war? Do I really need to go on, Harry?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry snapped finally. "It's just that…do you really think I'd be a good teacher?"

Draco stared at him in disbelief. "Didn't I just list all of your qualifications?"

"But that was thinking on the seat of my pants stuff," Harry protested. "I never did any planning, that was all Hermione. I just do things by instinct--"

"And what is your instinct telling you now, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "That it's going to hard…and bloody scary, but…it'll be Hogwarts." Harry opened his eyes and looked back out to the shining lake. "It'll be Hogwarts, so it'll be home."

He leaned back as he felt Draco's arms come around him. "So, we're going to do this."

"Yes. We're going to do this," Draco affirmed softly into Harry's neck.

"Alright then."

They stood there for a few moments, before Harry stiffened. "Draco? What time is it?"

"It's been exactly ten minutes. You ready to go greet another Weasley into the world? Not that there aren't already enough, mind you," Draco teased lightly, pulling away and laughing as Harry shoved him gently.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Draco headed off down the hill before realizing that Harry wasn't beside him. "Harry?"

He was still on top of the hill, smiling into the night.

"Goodnight," Harry said softly to the lights. "We'll be back."

He turned and walked down to Draco, lightly taking the blonde's hand into his as they continued down the hill. The wind blew softly through the grass and the trees as calm washed over the night, before the anticipation for the dawn set in, and all looked to the east for the rising sun.

-The End-

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me during the writing of this piece. I feel such a sense of joy and accomplishment that it's been completed, and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations. Thank you to every single person who has commented, reviewed, recc'd, reread or shown any type of favor to my work. I've got some new plot bunnies, so I won't be gone long, but happy holidays, all the best, and stay warm and safe!

Lunadragon


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